Often, if I do not know the place I am driving to, I will give myself extra time, just in case I get lost or run into construction that will make me late. Not that I mind getting lost: that’s led to lots of adventures and discoveries.
I do mind being late because being late is inconsiderate and impolite and so cushions of time are part of how I plan my appointments, meetings, things to do.
I had an appointment in a part of the city where anyone would get lost because it’s the suburbs. And I did get lost for all of five minutes. Less time lost meant some time to spare. Since I had my handy-dandy small moleskin grid book, and special pen, I started to doodle down the left-had side of the page. I wrote the date and time at the top. Made some sloppy circles. I felt a tingle. On the right hand side of the page, I wrote a poem in a single, sloppy breath with equally sloppy penpersonship.
When the words were done, I thought of Princess Wordplay who has spent the month writing and posting a poem a day for National Poetry Month. She also had a spell in the hospital. The LEAST I could do is show solidarity and try to post at least one poem.
I thought of transcribing the poem to its own page, but I wanted the circles. They had prompted the poem. And so, I took a snapshot, loaded it and here it is. It is unedited, in exactly the same form as when it first hit the page. That’s kind of scary to show someone.
I do this not without some trepidation. But if April is the cruelest month, then perhaps the best way to counter it is through an act of some small bravery, (say I with all the upcoming caveats) of feeling the fear and doing it anyway. But the caveats:
For those of you who look for symbolism: the circles are NOT about breasts.
For those of you who are aspiring graphologists, this is not a typical sample of my writing, although yes, I am a meliorist, ruled totally by my tongue in cheek logic, and yes, it IS hard to write in a small book, on half a page, and on my lap which is not shaped like a hard surface. DO not pay attention to the dot after my initials, it’s not true. Anyone can have the last word. Who me?? Aloof..? Nawwww. I am also bilingual. I can write the lesbian ‘g’ as well as the non-lesbian ‘g’, and disguise my interest in things sensual by keeping descending lines tight.
For colour therapists…note the bright happy colours!
For doodle analysers. Oh please. Not everything in the universe means something. Or anything for that matter.
Now it’s your turn. Write her a poem.
And if you do not have a HER at the moment, write a poem anyway to the one you imagine and when you find her you can give it to her and say, “I wrote this to you…while I was waiting.”