I used my prose way back in May
When I had useful things to say

And then in June I wondered why
My well of words was cracked and dry

I used my prose – such lovely thoughts
I wrote them out, those nimble plots

Those thankless letters left me there
Stuck with August everywhere

I scratched out words one at a time
I seeded prose in autumn rime

Ruminating through the cold
I felt the silence taking hold

I used my words way back in May
In March I had nothing to say

Till suddenly the prose came home
And settled in my finger bones

Perhaps I have new things to say
I only hope to last past May…

——

I saw a Facebook ad that was about a shampoo or something. In my haste to scroll by, my brain simplified the first sentence to “I started using prose in May.” The rest wrote itself very quickly, until the end. I have difficultly telling when my brain wants to end something hopefully for real, or if it’s pretending to ignore a reality that I don’t want to face. Not writing for months, for example, in any format. All my writing has been on ice for what feels like ages.

NaPoWriMo is starting in a week. I hope that gets my creative muscles flexing again.