Thursday, March 12th, 2015
My wife bought me a travel journal,
leather bound –
with a map of the world exquisitely rendered
across the front and back covers –
a work of art
with an imposing ream of blank parchment
bound between its elegant leather.
I’m thinking of titling it “Writer’s Block”.
Can I write anything in this without feeling like
I’m carving a heart pierced with Cupid’s arrow
and the words Tony loves Maureen
across the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel?
How can I not write what I’m writing now –
knowing that the words pierce – two hearts –
and still write something worth reading?
Fortunately, Cupid struck us both true.