(for Laura Hershey)
I stared hard at the computer screen,
trying to decide if this was someone’s idea
of a very sick Facebook joke.
Then I make no sense for a few minutes,
as I tried to find the right number of verys
to express my heart's aching.
“Very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, ver…”
until my assistant insists I stop and tell her
exactly what happening.
Suddenly winning Nanowrimo in 3 and a half days
doesn’t seem so important,
especially when my characters mundane, everyday, basic actions
seem to have hit an abrupt pause.
assistant bought Chinese dinner,
watch Something’s Gotta Give for the thousandth time,
and take a 90 minute nap
after failing to add even on meaningful sentence
to my tale of a young ballerina’s journey
toward self discovery.
I venture to my local mega-grocery
hoping chocolate, which I buy with change only,
will recall the muse to mind.
After one-third of bag of Reese’s
I’m no happier or more motivated
just a little stomach sick.
somehow I find the focus
to write this poem
and decide- perhaps cruelly-
to make one of characters endure
a death, too.
these are fitting
to a genius lost
even if it's only a rough draft.