She wrote

At a writing retreat with Miriam Hall last week, this flowed out during a 15-minute free-write, in response to something another participant had read aloud.

She wrote 
and wrote and wrote 
and wrote and wrote and wrote 
and wrote. 

She wrote truth 
and she wrote fiction, 
analysis and speculation, 
memoir and imagination, 
dreams and information. 

She wrote by hand, 
she wrote by keyboard, 
she wrote, occasionally, with voice memo dictation. 

Her mental world expanded as she wrote, 
while her physical world shrank. 
Busyness subsided 
as the words flowed onto the page, 
into the book.

One book became two, 
a book-within-a-book, 
then two pushed at the edges of their container, 
threatening to become 

A solid, singular point of view 
toyed with breaking out into 
multivocal cacophony. 
Characters vied for her attention, 
daring her to try the worlds she was creating 
from their perspectives. 
“Write a mile in my shoes,” said one. 
“Sing a song with my blues,” taunted another. 
“However will she choose?” we all wondered. 
“Shhhhhh…,” she said, writing a finger over the lips of the author, 
“I’m thinking.” 

She wrote and wrote and 
wrote some more, 
healing as she went,
the words like traces, 
scabs that fell off gently as the new skin grew, 
scars that decorated, 
demarcated the wounds 
of the warrior of life, 
the bounds of strife, 
the tracks in the snow 
where the wild things scampered 
on their way to their burrows underground. 

She wrote and she wrote and she wrote, 
words flowing like meltwater in springtime, 
nourishing seeds, 
waking them from slumber, 
carrying them to new fields and forests and 
fertile soils. 

On and on she wrote. 

She wrote like breathing, 
like eating, 
like pooping, 
like singing. 

She wrote large, 
she wrote small, 
she wrote short, 
she wrote tall. 

That’s all, she wrote. 

13 thoughts on “She wrote”

  1. Barbara STREIBEL

    This is just …. wonder-full, flowing, nourishing, breath-full…. thank you for posting this.With gratitude,Barbara

  2. Such a joy to read!
    This stands out:
    healing as she went,
    the words like traces,
    scabs that fell off gently as the new skin grew

  3. Celeste L. Robins

    Becca, I am getting really excited to read your book. Your poem has definitely juiced my curiosity! I know the feeling of those inspired times. I am so happy for you, knowing you are experiencing them. Hugs and smiles, virtually❣️ Celeste

Leave a Reply