Practicing What I Preached

True to what I implored all of you to do for the National Day on Writing, I wrote today.  (Most of) My students did, too.  They came away with quite a few projects that they are anxious to pursue, too.  A successful day if a do say so myself.  Here's my draft:

“Melancholic Block”

I flip blankly

through the curling blue-covered notebook

in my hands—

seventy pages of college-ruled nothingness—

and chew the end of my eraser,

along with my thoughts,

spitting out nothing—

digesting even less

Memory’s phonograph drones

its nondescript tune

until it reaches the inner-most

circumference of the aged vinyl—

song over;

the needle, abandoned and forgotten,

trips incessantly—

going nowhere

Melancholy wanders over

and notices that I

don’t look up

she drapes her dusty arm

over my shoulder,

her wispy tresses trailing

like a metaphoric afterthought

that means nothing in particular

and listens to the same slow symphony:

sad

a glance from her ashen eyes

clarifies:

words won’t work today—

the muse is absent—

home with a sore throat

but even without words,

understanding exists,

as she places a

tepid hand over mine—

not grabbing

not holding

not squeezing—

just there

it’s reassuring,

knowing these doldrums

of unmoving lines,

will be weathered,

but for now…

I break out the oars

and strike for the other side

As always, comments and criticism are welcome.