The first waking light of dawn
makes my stomach tingle tightly,
as I force my eyes open, glancing at the clock
which has ceased to hold me in custody
like the prisoner of time I used to be.
I try to re-write the sentence in my head– anxious, grasping,
missing again, veering away
from what it was I was trying to say.
In the afternoon road- walking,
responsibilities keep me stalking through sentences.
I pace in the back yard, not seeing anything;
Then flop on my back for a stolen moment
the softness of cushiony earthen mattress on my aching spine,
I’m feeling the phrase emerging from between my ears,
from behind my eyes.
They did the best they could.
Journal prompt: write about writing. If you write memoir, what somatic issues come about during the process? Describe what your body feels like when writing the truth. Do the words just flow out from the page or the keyboard or do you have certain routines that help get the words out?