By Marianne Patty
Stymied, I close the front door behind me,
step into summer’s humidity,
leave frustration piled on my desk.
A trail of unconnected thoughts
floats behind me,
mundane words
litter the sidewalk.
Then, I notice
the spotted fawn studying me
from the bushes, startled,
she lopes away.
Sunlight sparks
on last night’s rainwater,
cupped in an upturned ivy leaf.
A shrill cry from a hawk
pulls my attention
to a blue sky saturated
with Cerulean blue brush strokes.
Wings spread, he floats
on air currents.
The perfect word pops
into my head, the elusive one
I chased earlier,
an almost-perfect title
presents itself.
Sometimes, this room of my own
needs to walk with me.
Marianne Patty is a poet and visual artist. She compares poetry writing to constructing a collage: putting words down, taking them out, moving them around. She has been published in various literary magazines, including the North American Review. This poem was written for Tell Your Story of Home, a collaboration of Reinventing Home and Leap, an intimate platform for online learning.
