The Writer At Her Desk

The Writer At Her Desk

Looking for publicity pictures, I stumble upon this photo of myself the way I might discover a poem I don’t remember writing. This has happened several times Although I know I wrote the piece in question, I am always left wondering a little about myself as a writer. This picture IS that person I become when sitting at my desk–hair somewhat askew, eyes not focusing on any object at hand. This is the somewhere-else-writer-person, the daydreamer preoccupied with images and thoughts which transport me from the ordinariness of my husband’s plaid shirt, the helter-skelter papers on the credenza, to life as I re-know in words I cannot speak, in words I think and then, by some stretch, can write.                   

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