Some days they pour forth

Like water flowing from the faucet

Into the tub.

Some days they rush and tumble onto the page

Like children cartwheeling

Across the grass.

Some days they come in great bursts

Like the end of the fireworks

On the Fourth of July.

But some days

The words trickle out

Like the last few drips

From the hose.

And some days each word feels like a blow

In a fight with the blank whiteness of the screen.

On the worst days

There are no words at all.

Only a relentless typing and deleting

Scribbling and crossing out

Giving in to someone else’s book and a cup of tea.

Today is one of those days.

I will sleep tonight and dream of words and stories and hope that tomorrow-

Tomorrow will be one of the other days,

A day where the words slip from my fingers like a silk scarf

Caught by the breeze, drifting away down the sidewalk.


4 thoughts on “Words

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