JackieDoss

The monks prayed all day. The angels watched all night.

...the tools that we use to draw with

With a whispering hand,
almost unnoticed,
Autumn gently dispels the summer

There’s no such thing as writer’s block.
Don’t let the ink get dry.
Write, write, write, write.
March the rhythm by.
Can a muse refuse a cadence?
Will she just pass by?

Neatly folded into a triangle
wrapped in a plastic bag
sitting on the top shelf
of my spare bedroom closet
is the flag that once
blanketed
my father’s casket.

Sometimes the way you look at me
makes tiny paper cuts all over me.