A lady I know with a heart white as snow
Inquired as to why I write –
The things I do, for me or for you,
Recognition or simply delight?
I was struck by her question
That required dissection of my innermost motivations –
Which left me frustrated and grizzly gyrated
Concerning my concocted creations.
So I turned to my favorite friend on the wall
And asked him, “Tell me true:
Am I just writing for me alone
Or am I also writing for you?
The mirror stood silent and spoke not a word
As if keeping his secret inside –
“You’re no friend at all you fake on the wall,”
Spitting straight to his one good eye.
Yet still so distraught by the query she brought
Unto my inner voice a ‘calling:
These words that I write are here day and night
From out of the sky they keep falling.
Straight into my humble head and down on to the page
Where paper and ink join hands –
Revealing the answer to the question she posed…
I write because I can.
* Dedicated to Ilene Bauer for prompting me to delve deeper into the poetic motivations of both Emily Dickinson and yours truly. Thanks Ilene for giving me much more to think about! All the best, Terry