Sometimes at night when I want to write,
I find I have nothing to say.
Words in my brain get in my way,
Failing my fingers clicking the keys.
Cruising the cabinets of my mind
Rummaging through collections of words
Naming the experiences of my years
I am never disappointed.
I find writers whose words settled on me like ideas,
now my treasures to explore at will:
Barbara Kingsolver and the Monarchs that failed in their migration
Yet gave direction to a soul in flight mode;
Donald Hall’s poem that said kicking the leaves in the Fall
Is like kicking Death. I now kick leaves every Fall;
Rosemary Gladstar’s formula of herbs to prevent or heal the flu;
Thanking her and God for Cold Care Capsules; and
Naill Williams’s view of Clare County, Ireland, draws me to my ancestors.
Continuing to search a life’s bank of words, I find
References to family and friends no longer living,
remember the gifts they left behind:
Nancy and my first smell of fresh peppermint tea,
Pastor Anderson who called my name, saying,
“Things don’t just happen; people make them happen.”
Smiley, a student whose smile lit the room.
Daphine and her daylilies that bloom in my garden in June.
Minton and his love for God and dirt and small details in nature.
A smile, a daylily, a Monarch in flight
Drift into the mind of the writer at night.
Searching a long life at the end of the day,
The writer wants words, something to say.