manuscript

When I write for myself
I write quickly with a very sharp pencil.
I love the faint scratching sound
and the feel of the graphite
sliding across the paper.

I write in cheap reporters notebooks
and poems are interleaved
with lists of chores and shopping.

This photograph was taken
immediately after I had finished writing
but it seemed too private, too personal, to post.

Perhaps that is because it records the moment
when words leap the gap
between my head and the world.

By the time they reach the screen
they belong to you, the reader,
but until then, as gray shapes on gray lines,
they still belong to me, the writer.

*****

This post is for Jackie
who suggested writing about writing

and for Bobby
whose first email arrived out of the blue a year ago.

Their friendship,and your friendship,
which has brought me so many smiles

and so much encouragement,
has been made possible
by the magic of the inkless internet.

I am profoundly grateful.