I spent years trying to invent interesting things to write about. I gave up. It’s a good thing I know how to use a camera. And anyway, I’m dyslexic. Lately, though, I can’t seem to avoid encountering interesting things. I also can’t seem to avoid writing about them, even if I don’t have the time.
Yesterday afternoon I curled into the corner of my couch and started a difficult letter to a friend–difficult because my friend can read between the lines and know when I’m full of crap. This letter was especially difficult to write because two large bees were distracting me with repeated slamming of their heads into the window behind me. As an appeasement I wrote a quick poem for them. It worked, but I still had to finish the letter; and I had yet to face writing about two roast pigs I would meet a few hours later. Those pigs kept me up until three o’clock in the morning.
I used to make fun of people like me.
The End of May
Mowers hum their lines on lawns while
lilacs swing on strings of tender winds.
Two crazy bumble bees fly their heads
into the window pane like spurned lovers.
They break their wings and drop into the
primrose before falling asleep, hungry,
among golden suites of nectar.
G W Sisk
May 28, 2011