July 20, 2021
By Amba Gale
“Pick up your pen and write,” she says,
that wise and ancient Voice: the devoted Muse,
speaking to me in the grey morning, white
ball of sun
in the sky,
in the water, below.
where the surface conversation has long since disappeared,
I ask a private question: “Of what shall I write?”
“Anything you hear in the deep well of your own heart.”
“Write about the loon mourning the days away.
Write about the turtle who belongs
in the pond among the lilies.
Write about a world of wonders.
Write about me, who will always encourage
you to find me,
to find your self
through these beautiful
white pages in your lap,
through the warmth and smell of the tea
you drink every morning
attending to it smoothing through your body
through the grey soothing sea below
your window carrying the splashing sparks of the sun
dancing dancing dancing
May you meet yourself.
There, may you be delightfully surprised by who you find.”