Refracted

The sun is different this time of year, she notices.
And not just because it’s going down earlier, setting even before she leaves
work now,
but also in how it slants through her windows, piercing her eyes,
reflecting off of her desk in bright
sideways rays which make it hard to see things clearly.

Too much light, refracted off of surfaces
can make it hard to see, she notes.

She pauses now, collecting her spirits,
noticing the darkness has grown significant,
surprising for this time of day.
(Was it cloudy when she stepped outside? She can’t remember.)

Sips her coffee,
which is too hot.
Turns on a desk lamp.

Thinks for a bit.
What is being avoided today?
Typically in a given day, she knows she is avoiding something.
Maybe it’s work that needs to happen,
or maybe something more important, like psychological work.
Digging through old scars to get to the point of things.

Dredging up that old dreck is no fun,
she thinks. Maybe I’ll save it for another day.

She steps back from the poem she is writing,
stops again to look at the great expanse of freedom before her
and wonders why she feels so stuck.