Tending the fire

Finishing a poem is the best high in the world. Something happens in your entire body – you can feel fingers ¬†working, molding, creating. You can feel a warmth being created under you and you’re tending and poking and rearranging the logs to the fire of this poem.

You know it’s good when you’re reading it aloud to yourself to get it right and your cat comes walking up at the sound of your voice and looks at you and smiles. And she’ll come sit on your lap and pretend to fall asleep, but you’ll start reading again to get the words right and she’ll look back and you at the sound of your voice and she’ll smile again. She’ll look at you and smile.

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