A stray tweet drew my eye, which then led me to the wonderful Terri Windling blog, Myth and Moor. Her midterm blog was on Hope and Faith. (I recommend that you read in in full here.) She quotes another favourite writer, Rebecca Solnit. She writes about writing as being a lonely occupation, although I would style it as solitary rather than lonesome.
(Writing) is an intimate talk with the dead,with the unborn, with the absent, with strangers, with readers who may never come to be and who, even if they do read you, will do so weeks, years and decades later.”
Which brings me to today’s focus for gratitude. I am grateful for patience. I am grateful that my mother cultivated it in me. So today’s poetry practice in on patience. But I am also grateful that there are wonderful women writers out there like Terri Windling and Rebecca Solnit.
And I am grateful for readers no matter how few, far between, or late in the day. Thank you, dear readers!
I am also grateful to know so many good, honest criminals who open my eyes to so much about everything that is really pertinent to living.
Prison teaches you patience, Michael said.
Writing is a patient art. Also one
that requires daily acts of devotion.
It becomes an article of faith, too.
A musician or visual artist
may get audience real time reception.
Applause in the present. The Wow! is now.
Like a garden, writing starts as seedbed.
What crop will show ultimately depends
upon climate and the weather. And faith
something will come of it all in the future.
Patience is what makes you keep turning up-
pruning, watering, mulching, feeding the soil.
My good, honest criminals and I are
much the same. In so many ways we know
all permutations of patience, not as
saints, or even as sinners. We know how
to do time. We’ve even elevated
it to art. It’s ineradicable
in our hearts. Like writing is for a start.
Copyright © Bee Smith 2018