Will I be something?
Am I something?
And the answer comes:
You already are.
You always were.
And you still have time to be.
You are warm as you nap beside me, even in these early and newly cool days of fall. Your breath is even and rhythmic, in tune with the calmness of so much else this time of year. You have been a sun-soaked summer sidewalk until now, and yet this evening you prove you can also be the quiet softness of brightening, deepening, learning leaves.
write a poem!
nobody is watching!
say anything at all!
write it louder!
nobody is near!
write something unfiltered!
it doesn’t even have to be good!
use exclamation points!
don’t think about meter, nor rhyme!
write a poem about writing a poem!
quick, before you’re found out—
The red plums were much tastier last August.
Fruit are funny in that way.
Someone ask William Carlos Williams about the denial implicit in an icebox.
Let the seasons have their say.