Looking Through My Poetry Notebook Today, A Find

I'm on vacation from classes for the next two weeks. 

This is a time I want to use as a period to reflect and rediscover who I am again.  I'm going through a grieving process right now over a relationship that went sour. I expected too much once again.  Perhaps this time I have learned my lesson.  I really hope so.  

We cannot put the totality of our faith and hope for happiness in others.  Sometimes we get lost in other people, and that is a huge mistake. We have to find our higher selves in reflection, quiet, and if we believe in God, Him the Comforter. I am seeking these to recover from my sadness and disappointment.  

I wept a little today for the first time in weeks.  I cry and grieve easily about this life. Today tears and also prayer healed me and I sought my poetry notebook, the poetry of a few others, and I ended up here.  The battle with this hurt will linger for awhile, but I feel I will overcome it and be a better and wiser person.  Love and respect people, but never expect very much. 

I'm trying to get refocused on a love of mine that I have some control over, my poetry.  Here is a poem I wrote that I haven't granted a title to yet that found in my poetry notebook.  

As a little girl I wanted to play my grandmother's clotheslines
Like a musical instrument.
They were strings of a giant guitar.
I loved guitars, my very young aunt had one.

Grandmother would go outside
With two or three clothes baskets
Nearly vomiting out clothes, bath and dish towels.
She was robust and patient out there
With butterflies, bees, and dragonflies, orbiting her.
I would sit on the concrete doorstep and watch.

Then hot and restless in the summer sun
I would go back inside to the washroom
Where the potbellied obese ringer washer sat
On it's skinny legs in the corner.
Playing with its rollers, I would try to twist them,
But they only moved when grandma and my aunt washed,
Inserting underwear, towels, clothes,
Slaughtering them like a streamroller.