Caren Krutsinger Poet Prose Poetry

I Do Not Have Any Ideas She Said

I don’t have ideas she told me. Ha! I scoffed. You do.
Like baby tigers, they are waiting to be released.
But I don’t have any time, she argued.
While you are in the car waiting for your kids?
Ten minutes here, six minutes there,
Pretty soon, you have an hour’s worth of thoughts

I am not clever, she told me. 
You don’t have to be, I encouraged her.
You can be morose or sad or depressed. 
Writing can be gargoyles and slugs, it can be devils.
It can bite your readers in their cheek bones.
All you have to do is write a word or two.
To begin.
Just one word really.

I always wanted to write when I was younger, she said.
But now, it’s too late. I am too old, too fat, too angry.
Anger makes great poetry, I said. Throw some angry words down.
Let them snarl and snap and ooze around in a syrup like rage.
She stared at me. I cannot write like you can, she told me.
No, I agreed, but I cannot write like you can either.
Just pick up a pen and begin.
I don’t have any ideas, she argued.
And frankly, I did not have any more time to waste….

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