Evening Pages

Photo by Marcel Ardivan on Unsplash

I have declared (and will likely do so again) that I am not terribly fond of poems which are overtly about the process of writing. So of course today’s draft is overtly about the process of writing. Somewhere in every iteration through the creative process, I will confront and hold every small thing I ever had the audacity to sneer at.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedI come late in the day to my writing. Here is my page. Some may see its emptiness as an abyss, a well to fall into and never be heard from again, a gaping mouth delivering a rebuke that will echo down the length of years for the width of a human lifetime. This blankness, this empty space -- this is the embrace of everything, the open arms of a friend you haven't seen for years, standing bare-faced before each other, the moment where you lean into the edges of joy before plunging completely, deeply into it. That is a blank page that waits for me, here, everywhere, always.