Compass

It has been a dry year
For the creative hemisphere
Of this mama's head-
Filled usually (and newly)
With thoughts of my child
When previously
There wasn't much else
Than ideas to unleash on paper
Or a blank shot
To fire through
An undivided head
Focused on nothing else
But travel, feasting, love,
And free-spirited lazing
On balmy afternoons,
And uneventful evenings.

And now I fight the hourglass
For a quiet moment
To hear the thoughts in my head,
See the bottom of my coffee mug,
Eat the last pizza crust;
But I don't miss that life;
I don't miss that directionless wandering
Into a comfortable haze-
My son is my compass.
He's led me home.