an original poem by eden.celeste
drink a Coke, maybe smoke a bit, and look
out upon the California waves. That was breakfast.
It may have not been nutritious, but it was brain
food for the cutting-edge journalist she'd made
herself out to be. She'd ponder and write,
ponder and write. Just so her head could make
sense of what her heart already knew. By picking
up the pieces that the world and its mess scattered
before her feet, she'd usually have something to
send out by noon.
But what about days when cobwebs filled Joan's brain?
What then? When patience was more than a venture,
oh how it took everything in her power not to throw
her journal across the room!
Writers know the drill. Artists, they get it. Sometimes
we wield the pen. Sometimes the pen wields us.
But Joan knew the difference, knew when to let up.
"Full stop!" I imagine her saying out loud,
not as if to forfeit, but to gently surrender
to the realities of being human. After all,
humbleness has to got to be the key to her long
life, right? And to confront "the block," Joan would shove
whatever she was working on in the freezer. Literally.
As if to suspend (but not crush) the creative
process in its tracks. Out of sight, out of strain.
Then she'd come back to it in a day or two,
only to find a thawed revelation.