Writing called me last night.Writing hadn't heard from me since...
you know. Honesdale.
The workshop. When Writing and I
spent an idyllic week
with fifteen other writers
led by three amazing women
who shook loose words
helped us pin them to slippery thoughts
all linked
in a narrative daisy chain.
Writing and I were so close all that week
flexing
loosening up
stretching
strengthening our voc-abs
striving for puns of steel.
But
Writing said
since we got back
I never called.
I tried to explain
how intimacy can react
with the need
to speed to minimum safe distance
as intensity retracts
from sylvan country retreat
to passive tense-city.
Writing reminded me I live on a wooded hill two hours from Honesdale.
Well. Yeah.
Writing opinedthat my maples and pines are as majestic
as Highlights
and though my days are more hectic
there's always nights.
Right.
Look, Writing.I want to be with you
it's just frightening
it can't be the same
I'm just not --
Oh BUNK! Writing shouted.
Don't look now butyou're writing.
The Holism of HighlightsVirginia unveils dactyl
and trochee
measurement to build a poem
just as The 3-4-5 Rule
once squared a Lancaster barn
whose beams
Linda's husband salvaged
to construct this haven
where Sonya perches
in lotus position
and I peruse Linda's book
titled
Barn Savers.
