October 1st
She smokes her cigaret
Stares out the dirty windows
Waiting for someone to come in
She feels paranoid
But when they do come in
She sits with them
Pours them a cup of tea
Makes sarcastic remarks
She gives them books to read
A trail of smoke follows her every where she goes
Her red hair is pulled up under a bandana
Her green eyes carry an age to them …
November 15th
Everyone that comes in leaves
With a story
For the last five years
It’s been me
We all want something
We want to be something
We believe we are making a mark
She has so many opinions
And ideas
She plays the piano
And thinks it’s funny
It being in a library
Dec 12th
I believe she is a muse
Not in the way we use it now
But in the, what is it? The original way
Muses were something that came to an artist
And helped them make art
Dec 24th
I don’t think she knows…
Jan 13th
She’s clouded
And heavy
Maybe she has been around for too long
Or for such a long time
She has forgotten
She is unhappy
Smokes more
Drinks more
Sleeps all day
Doesn’t get up
Or come sit with me like she used to
She just lets me use the library
I cannot write like I used to
I’ve asked her to go away with me
I think she is going away
But alone
she doesn’t laugh
She won’t drink tea anymore
The sunlight doesn’t come in the windows anymore
She’s going to make me lonesome when she goes…
Sept 20th
It’s been a long time since I’ve last written.
But I think I’ve carved out a way.
To just sit and work…
October 31st
I thought I saw her today
In a bookstore
It was just a moment
A flash of red
But
She looked happy .
Who knows what a muse is?
But maybe
Just maybe
They help us find our way
And our voice…
Who is to say anything is really gone?
Maybe they are there
In ordinary places
Doing ordinary things.
waiting for us to be unexpected
And
extraordinary.
