I don’t know what to write.

I set my pencil to paper, and it goes

it just goes.

no deep thought

certainly no structure

no counting syllables

for me

nary a rhyme

I have no scheme in mind

or at least I try

because the patterns

have been patted

and the sayings

have been said

but doesnt matter anyway

I just need them

out of my head

so teetring on iambic feet or

flowing out in waves

the words I write

go forth to meet

and who knows who they’ll save

many, some, or none.

I’ll write til my hand goes numb

and I’ll talk until I’m dumb

and read your words until I’m blind

or til I’m out of time and rhyme

I would rather expire than lose my desire

to share this fire. 

Noun. A person, place, or thing.

No such thing as a neutral noun

never needing nothing.

Nouns require something

simply because they are there.

Accept or reject – two choices

it all boils down to a binary code

right or wrong, yes or no, on or off, in our out

cower or shout

it’s the grammar of my life

words, choices, compound sentences

involving conjunctions and various functions

I must make these choices

respond to these nouns

be the agent of action

be the verb

do something

some nouns make it easy

food? eat it.

water? drink it.

yarn? knit it.

concrete nouns call for concrete responses

abstraction blurs the choices

how you respond to them

love, life, death

is everything, the polar opposite of nothing.

I had plans once, Isabella

I had plans, once.

They were simple, really.

Paint a room, refinish a rocking chair

Knit some booties.

There has not been a reason to follow through

Seeds have not started to grow

I gave you a second chance, a third, to show.

Sometimes I feel it like a plague

Other times my feelings are hazily vague.

Some months the sight of that blood brings bright, spiky pain

Others, I feel a contempt for the fool that I have been again.

The sorrow that I have could fill up a lake

Sometimes it’s a lot to take

And then there are times

When I think of all those plans

They stand boldly contrasting the life I have lived,

I have to think that this is the way it’s supposed to be

Even though it’s not what I thought I wanted

There’s nothing wrong with me,

And I am thankful

Thankful even for the sorrow of your loss by default

Because it defines me, Isa,

And you’re still in my heart, in the vault.

C 2006 Sheila McMahon