All That Must Be Done

The day ambushed the percussion of the rhythm of my body
like the legacy of all women who endeavor to accomplish anything.

My plans are quashed,
extinguished

in the fracas of all that must be done.

Acceleration, in this instance,
does not assume anything
that won't also be overcome,

like the runner at the end of a long race

by a few deep and steady breaths
from the observer's perspective
and silence from deep within
the inner room.