For this weeks Tuesday Tryouts, Margo asked for a poem about our muse. More specifically, I think she prompted us to ‘describe’ this … creature. Unfortunately, mine is a fickle minx who refuses to maintain appearances, if she submits to being seen at all.
There are still times when I find her
languishing by the liquor cabinet,
convinced words of higher meaning
are to be found in an emptied glass.
More often she dances in shadow,
a diaphanous distraction who plays
at the edges of consciousness, demanding
attention, refusing a point of focus.
Occasionally, when in a generous mood,
she meets me face to face, shares every
breath, flows as blood in the pen
to become ink on a page.
In those times, all others are forgiven.