Words

Poem © 2013 by Joyce Mason       
All Right Reserved

If only I could remember
the first word I ever wrote
fat pencil
tracing ABC’s
first grade
mean nun
still fun
wood in my small hand
sensation of transferring
thoughts to paper
the rush bigger
than any ride at Kiddyland.

I didn’t know then
what I know now:
Writing’s the record of who I am
how I think
what I experience,
what I find worthy of committing
to personal, sometimes
collective history.

I wonder how many miles
I have pushed a pen
or tapped a keyboard.
If I had an odometer on my laptop
it would have turned back to zero
many times over.

I’ve gone from fat pencils
and crayons to pens and typewriters
to keyboards on every gadget
large and small.
My love of word flow only intensifies
with it my perspective
of where words come from.

I am an open mind
a window for muses,
gods--the universe.
I wake up each morning
eager to hear what’s coming through
to start the day’s workplay
wordplay
same thing, different day
never dull doing life
indeterminate sentences.

I start each day making words
with dancing fingers
end only when fatigue
drags me kicking and screaming to bed.
I finally welcome slumber as the foreplay
an intermission to another day of words.

My fingertips hold the energy
of everything I’ve ever written
a replay I hope to see in the Great Beyond
where surely there are e-readers
of the energy variety.

I’ll put my etheric fingers on the cosmic gadget
watch the show with all my muses and inspirers
I finally get to meet “in person”
where I can be audience, not producer
where I can’t wait to write
the movie review.

~~~

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