Reading in Bed

I sometimes play hooky from my Inner Director.
Usually it’s on a Saturday, and I leave my bed
Only for food. The phone is beside me. I’ve made no promises.
I’ve gathered unread Sunday papers, months-old magazines,
Plus scissors, and folders in case I want to feel organized.

The journal keeper in me may even write
One sentence wrap-ups of news stories and essays.
This eclectic music lover will switch from classical
To bluegrass, to Prairie Home Companion.
I’ve always loved two-for-the-price-of-one,
And I get it with music + relaxing while catching up on reading.

Growing up, I don’t remember ever being able to relax in bed.
I’d be reading a book and be called down by Mom to help.
I wonder how many hours, days of reading
It could take to “make up for” those years as on-call helper.
It doesn’t matter now. I needn’t prove anything.
I can tell my internalized Mom to just relax.

I can be grateful that now I have choices.
And indeed, I just thought of a different book.
And I’m up. I found it.
I grabbed some berries, and propped up my pillows.
And no one will call me to help.