Some sentences are just so…plain. And ordinary. And without poetry. This one is one of those.
Ya’ll, I need a little bit of reader input. Boring. Right? But there is a poem following the request. If you have one minute or a few minutes, I would be honored if you would give me a sentence of two. You can leave it in the comment box. Or you can email me at email@example.com.
My heart is pounding and my insides are restless about this “book thing”. I may never write one. Or I actually may sit down and write one. And if i do or when I do, I really would love the push from readers or the “don’t do it” from readers.
(Spoiler alert. There are a lot of books out there. Do we really need another one?)
But I would be silly or crazy or mad not to ask you all for your feedback. Before the book dies on the vine or on the shelf. Or fall flat. Or never gets written. Or all of the above.
Poetry or prose? Poetry from me mixed with space for you to journal and draw and scribble and ponder? Essays?
So speak your mind. And thank you. No really, THANK YOU.
The Lady at The Check Out Line and Other Wise Souls in Sheep’s Clothing
The shepherds of the world, the meek and the mild
Disguised in plainclothes
Scanning the jars of Trader Joe’s Marinara sauce, while sleepy smiling
Asking all the right questions
Thanking you for bagging
(Paper or plastic, used to be the world’s oldest, space filler of quietude)
Hidden behind the clerky smile
And the name tag
And the all business
And the internal musings “is it five o’clock yet”
Is the fountain of wisdom
Waiting to erupt
They welcome our confidences in their non-threatening ways
The check-out line becomes the shrink’s couch
And we confide
“At least you found it”
She says to me
I know you know the words, I lay down before the altar of just formed trust
PHD in human frailty
They will inherit the Earth.