One Bad Poem

I'm awake early in the morning in my mother's house,
hiding in the bedroom with a cup of coffee
and my notebook. Mom is watching television.
My eleven-year old daughter lies asleep
in the bed beside me. It's as close,
this morning, as I can come to being alone.
This is what it's like to be me
and to insist on being a writer.
These few lines. Too much caffeine.
Other people elbowing in (my mother's news program
wafting from the living room; Emma snoring).
Another few lines. Not really poetry.
Just scribbling. But now I am imagining you.
You pour yourself a cup of coffee
and you sit down. You turn the page, idly,
trustingly. And, who know why,
but what I've written speaks to you. It says,
You are not alone in your dreams of becoming.
It says, We are in this together.


  1. Yes, we are in this together, thank God and thank you. This helps a lot, the coffee, the mother, the snoring child, real life.

  2. I have been rereading Heather Sellers's book, Page after Page, and had reached the chapter on "compost," where she says we have to value our actual lives and pay attention to them.

    I knew I would have a comment from you today :)

  3. I'm not familiar with Heather Seller's book, Page after Page, a chapter on compost, hmmmmmmmm I do love my worm bins and really value their work - I pay attention to worms - and the morning coffee, the noon coffee......and Our Town and Emily's words on missing the ordinary things of life after death, the things we took for granted, like the smell of coffe - a good worm bin smells great too.

  4. I have resolved to bring Heather Sellers to my college. She is SO brilliant. Her books Page after Page, and Chapter after Chapter are like cheerleading support for any writer's career.

    I can give you a copy!


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