Three Poems About Writing
(That's literally the whole post)
Missed Connections Yesterday, my meaning-maker —by which I mean brain— found stray poetry in everything: the violets in the yard the soap shushing from its dispenser the everything and nothing in your smile but I didn’t write them down, those slivers of verse, convinced (again) that I’d remember, that I had time. Today, nothing sings. ------- Forgotten Drafts I read my old work searching for hints of myself but find a stranger. ------- Busy Today darted like a rabbit, zigzagging across the hours, leaving a path of unfinished tasks strewn in its wake. Poetry (like the laundry, and the mending, and the grout in need of scrubbing) did not rise to the top of the list —and won’t if I do not set myself down carefully in my chair ignoring the minutes ricocheting off the hardwood floor, and slow myself long enough to hear the gentle tapping in my soul: words, ready to tiptoe out if they can get through edgewise. -------
(You can find “Busy,” as well as more poems like it, in my collection Some Days Are Sandstone. Thanks for reading.)
Great work on totally relatable topics!