An Author's Purpose

Time off means time to think. I'm enjoying the leisure that comes with the beginning of spring break even though it doesn't feel like spring yet.  Four days ago I tromped with Madilyn and Sophie through layered snow amidst a path of trees out behind our house.  Beyond the greenbelt, train tracks were covered in ice and glistening white powder. Snug below a canopy of trees, we felt as if we'd wandered into Narnia. We traveled into one of those surreal moments that come few and far between.  I pondered over purpose.  Now, in this moment, the snow has melted, the sky remains grey, and I will write — today. 

 Some call it ADHD

         Others call it creativity

My friend calls it "diversified talent"

       I call it confusing.

There are those who know,

know why, know who, know purpose.

They ask the flight attendant for scotch

and she answers with cheap whiskey. 

The Knowers prophesy perfection,

but,

       do they ever question the blueprint?

In dark hours before dawn

           Does Doubt visit the architect?

I crave the frenzy,

     I swim in stormy waters,

               to catch the wave

of promised change.

Lenka says, "all I want to be is everything— 

at once."

Me too.

..........................................................Since the age of I don't remember,

the stories are of mothers, homemakers, writers, teachers, lawyers, poets, business owners, hairdressers, copywriters, postcard creators, interior decorators, fashionistas,  story builders.

Curiosity is the giver,

and the taker;

didn't he kill the cat?

My grandparents lived in the same house for fifty years.

I've lived in thirteen.

My grandmother, a preacher woman,

her profession was dedicated to helping others:

HER ENTIRE LIFE.

             I am what I am.
     

Study and obsess until I get good, at least proficient. 
Put in the time until time slows.

Then boredom sets in,

or I pass by greener grass, 

that damned grass!

Who tends the grounds?

How long has the landscaper scaped?

I pass another lawn,

     as green as the last,

         and I forget.

Tales told,

a cruel narrator who makes and murders.

Characters evolve, the setting moves,

onto the next.

I am the curator of my life.

Author Unknown.