what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice
I’ve been scouring of late, old notebooks, scraps of paper
receipts of feeling I don’t remember having felt
would never remember if I hadn’t penned them
And I haven’t scribbled for a while.
I’m trying to ignore the ‘shoulds’.
I’ve been searching for time to write
I can hear my art mentor tut tut tutting
‘there is always time for everything’.
And he’s right.
And my fellow wordsmiths
they crow in unison
there is always time to write
find the time
should find the time
should live in the moment
should write what I know
should take my time
And they’re right
of course, because there is always
three o’clock in the morning and train and bus trips
and the time it takes for penne to boil
and waiting for the electrician
who will never come because I live in Italy and I haven’t nagged
in a while, and time between when the kitten
because he lives indoors
and when there’s no one at the enoteca
and I’ve already cleaned the ice from the fridge
and between breaths
see the moment through a lens of well-strung words
construct a sigh from that lake of starch water and salt
or a burning boat
from the hurt
of last year
there is always time
when you’re someone else
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