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


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