I ruin my writing by being employed
I use hands-only CPR to save it
I feel a heartbeat
There is black magic in work, coffee, ink
Will what I scribble show enough
of the picnic cloth with pom-poms
that I dreamt for us?
I make lists
I wait at the breakfast table
I sing to the dog
And after a week…
I burn my words around fire pits!
My mouth has unlimited credit!
Free free free summer fancery!
I am the whole damn band!
But first, and foremost, and always,
I have to do that old Chancery Hand.

Amy Cunningham 2017