Speaking of inspiration...


Inspiration Needs to Work on Its Timing

The Romantics would have you believe
that a writer should sit under a tree
and wait for inspiration to fall on his head
like Newton's fabled apple.

I say,
with all due respect,
that's bullshit.
(Although, as a writer,
I suppose I should be more eloquent
and call it hogwash
or codswallop.)

When I sit under a tree
with pen and paper in hand
there are no apples,
or acorns,
or pinecones,
or whirligig seeds,
or leaves,
or even caterpillars,
that fall on my head and inspire me.
(Once a bird crapped on me.
I tried to write a poem about it,
but it was no good.)

Inspiration only strikes at the most inopportune moments.
In the shower,
with shampoo in my hair,
and one leg up on the side of the tub
while I'm shaving.
At three in the morning,
with the lights out,
and the blankets wrapped around me
while I'm trying to sleep.
In the grocery store,
with a full cart,
and my arm stretching as far as it can
while I'm reaching for a box of cereal.
At the dentist,
with my mouth wrenched open,
and drool streaming down my cheek
while I'm staring at the ceiling.

Poems do not drift in on a gentle breeze
carrying the scent of honeysuckle.
They come with razor cuts on my legs,
bags under my eyes,
an empty fridge,
and teeth that are only ever half-cleaned.

--Bree Keeler, 2012