AN ACCIDENTAL POEM
"For me, the poems arrive with their wisdom. I retrieve them, and they become my teachers" (Mark Nepo). So all those poems I wrote-- They are my teachers, and I am their assistant? Fast forward: In the middle of composing an email to my mother, I struggle saying it's not okay how you speak to me, My laptop freezes. I'm seized with fear. Lord, don't let my computer be broken. I press escape, ctrl/alt/delete. I perform a forced shutdown. Have I done these things with myself? With my mother? Nothing works. I accept I may not be able to fix it. So I take a break and stop trying. After some time it unfreezes. The message "restore pages" appears. Now my cursor starts moving-- a knight in shining armor, riding across my screen. The email I was writing to my mother -- It doesn't seem so important anymore . I know this is Grace-- an email becoming a poem. Cb Amen
