Bread to the Wise

for a friend whose battles are more private than mine

I know it’s not the same.
I’m not saying it’s the same.
It’s just I wear my shame.

It’s a fat suit I can’t take off.
Can’t seem to take off.
Have put back on, after taking off.

And oh, my house–it’s a mess.
In some ways glorious, in all ways,
or almost always, still a mess.

Skinny women with clean houses
are not (necessarily) full up on bliss.
In my head, I know this.

And a woman round as me
who is also a clutter-monkey
might not be a mess like me

inside her head.
She might not dread
the things I dread.

I know what you’re going through is different.
But if it helps, please take this offering
of what I couldn’t if I wanted to keep private.

_____
Ecclesiastes 9:11 “Again I saw that under the sun the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favour to the skilful; but time and chance happen to them all.”

Being as I am not particularly swift, not lifting weights regularly at the moment, not as wise as I’d like, not using my intelligence every time I ought, not using the skill-set I do have, lacking the skill-set I need…well then, by golly–this verse sounds like terrific news today.

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