A woman arises from the mist and walks towards me. All my writing until this moment seems but mere child’s play, splashes in puddles of rain.
She unfolds her soft, supple hands, not gnarled, and scarred as I would assume for one having put her hand to the plow of honesty. No, her palms rest smooth and calm.
She motions me forward, into the grown-up world of memoir. As if entranced by an apparition, I follow, haltingly and awkwardly at first, until the motion practiced achieves fluidity of form.
No time clock ticks on the walls of my mind, just forward motion in sync with a rhythmic heartbeat, the voices of memoirists throughout the ages.
I want to write memoir. Thoughts swirl in my mind, invigorating, compelling. No deadlines delivered nor perfection required. Just the steady, melodic sound of desire like a dulcimer’s tingling inside my mind. Calling me forward to follow… the woman in the mist.
Poem by JoDee Luna
Artwork by Elya Filler Moline
Music: Surrender by Asher Fuller