What a Writer Looks Like
by me
She stares hard at the screen, hands clenched.
Just one index finger poised over the arrow key and
One fist gripped at her mouth.
She reads herself.
His ears are wrapped in something – maybe Mozart, maybe Britney
Name tag dangling from a shoulder
Pen rushing on the paper, running downhill since the meditative
“Go” was given. He pushes through.
She chews her gum with her mouth open,
And stares at her fingernails—pause–
Taps at the keys—pause—
She can’t chew and type at the same time.
She eats the poppyseed bread, flicks crumbs
From her fingers.
Bread first. Then water seal uncracked.
She scans the program now, gathering momentum.
The room hums, in the writing place, where we
Stew in our own process,
Chew our thoughts like cud
Stretch our necks and gulp coffee, like the writers that we are.
17 May 2008
Write-a-thon
