Writing Tango
When I was three,
I discovered the electric feeling
of writing utensil and paper
within my grasp.
The way lines of lead, ink, and hue
spilled on the page.
My wand sparking and connecting with paper.
When I was seven,
I was introduced to the machinations of
computer and keyboard.
My fingers lapping up the pulse of the keyboard
buttons and plinking sounds.
Around the same age,
I was intermittently bewitched by the typewriter.
Knowing the frustrations of being perfect on the page —
one wrong plunk and I had to physically adjust roller
and paper, apply white out, and get the type right.
Regardless of time, my connection
to writing instruments remains strong
but my passion for writing goes through waves.
Over the years, I dip in and dip out.
A number of stressful life events, like a storm
have invigorated and depleted my relationship.
Some moments it’s like a raging inferno
that licks my inner walls fanning flames of pleasure
that fireball through my senses
and in some moments it’s like a flood
that breaks the dam of emotions
water crushing and submerging my sense of being.
Maybe this dance I do on the page — whether web or paper —
is not meant for a larger audience
but for the small invested group that gathers on the pier
delighting in the way our magics collide and glide
across the surface.
