bwg poem – I tend to write in spurts

Phillis Wheatley

Above, Phillis Wheatley

 

I tend to write in spurts.

All of a sudden,
something inside
comes out.

I clear my desk,
writing via virtual command.
Words jostle forth,
I place them in careful order.

I hate the silent periods,
or quiet time in general.
While my mind is on fire,
sparks of thought forever flickering,
I rarely take up pen and pad.
I feel like a fraud.

I ought to be at my desk
daily in the wee hours
of morning scribbling away.
Instead, I lie in bed
catching the tails of my dreams,
which requires great focus…
In truth, I love sleeping in. I love busying myself
in the kitchen with a new meal.
Two hours wasted!

And then, there’s dance class.
Twice a week! Plenty of time
For writing but there I am spinning
In space, scooping my arms,
dipping and diving across the floor.
There, I learn what it means
To initiate the movement,
to have my core enliven my body,
propel me through the phrase.

That I write so infrequently
often makes me miserable.
I question, why return
to an act that you can’t keep up?

Finding an answer,
I fumble…
I make a point
to breathe in deeply.

In a rush,
I remember
making a poem–
holding myself still.

I turn to my desk gently,
Noting how much I have
Missed this moment with me.

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