showering, but driven to honor The Muse, (for once) i refuse to not-capture a poem
| (to be) a writer
is to reach-in & turn-on the shower getting one foot wet
(while still leaning back, looking into the bathroom mirror)
with words, then lines, bubbling-up, through
my brain, (while staring into my own eyes), and saying,
“(oh), That’s good! i’ll remember That! ..... no,….
No, i won’t …”
and reaching-in and turning the water off,
turning, and leaving a trail of one wet footprint
up two steps, into the kitchen, sitting naked at the breakfast table,
trying to remember each and every word –
every side-thought, every feeling,
scribbling, furiously… failing, finding, writing...
and then, "Yes"; and following the wet prints back down 2 stairs, and
into the shower, pouring and scalding-hot,
glad that for once i did not just ‘let them go’
was not, later, sitting in a wet towel, vainly trying to
recapture each of those fading words, and failing
to be a writer.