When they ask how writing is going
A poem from the archives
She wants to write, but the paper burns up under her
pen. She wants to yell in all caps, but keeps hitting
delete. Wants to tell you she’s afraid we’ve got God all
wrong, but she’s afraid to tell you we’ve got God all
wrong. Wants to say sorry she’s angry, but anger seems
to be the only thing that drives her. She wants to tell
you a story about how everything will be ok, but she
knows that would be a lie. She wants to make you feel
the sunset, feel the way the sky and land and water
blend together into a hazy, multicolored dream, feel the
warmth sinking into you, like when you hold a sleeping
newborn on your chest, but how does she describe the
indescribable?1