I sit at the computer,
back straight,
fingers arced above the keyboard.
I will be profound ... prolific ...
"Dog needs out," my husband calls.
Odie, you are an old, royal pain in my ...
The door opens and Oden departs.
I watch as he lopes into the yard,
rolls in the freshly cut grass,
belly to the sun.
He looks at me with a dumb-dog grin.
"Okay," I say, rubbing his coat.
"You are a good boy."
I'm back at the computer,
ready to unleash my creativity.
I want to inspire,
to shine light,
to give a smile to a world
that's not easy, hardly ever.
Knock, knock, knock!
"Grandmomma,
will you play Go Fish with me?
Pleeeeease?"
I look at the computer screen.
The cursor hasn't moved.
My fingers are , apparently, paralyzed.
"I'll be right out, baby. Get the cards ready."
Time ticks by but
I am here again,
ready to produce the Great American Poem.
I strike a key.
My kitten jumps onto my bare leg.
I yelp and
Gently drop the kitten outside
my room.
(Yes, I do mean 'gently'.)
Perhaps my muse is outside,
waiting on me
and a glass of sweet ice tea.
I go to find her,
tea in hand,
so cold that the glass
is beading with condensation.
I take a seat.
I will wait on her and
we will have the magical conversations
all writers have with their other self.
I look up into the heavens.
The stars glisten like gems
in a treasure chest
against the velvety black void
of the night sky.
The moon wears a misty halo,
turning its man angelic.
From a nearby tree, a hoot owl
croons its lullabye,
joined by jealous crickets.
My face is caressed by a gentle breeze,
bringing scents of grass and trees
and garden flowers.
And there I find
inspiration and hope,
serenity and peace.
I find myself.
There I
find
God.
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