In St. Joachim today…mini-writing retreat…ooo, yeah.
Writers In A Mansion With A Lakeview
Brown lake water toils, wind-whacked.
The lake lakes as the writers write.
Poets and fiction writers god-ing.
The tap-tap of fingertips on laptop keyboards
nestles into the central air pushing into
massive rooms with high ceilings, wood-beamed.
There’s enough coffee and confections to fuel
thousands of thoughts onto hopeful pages.
We keep eating donuts and cookies even though
we know we ‘shouldn’t’ – but we should
give in to the fickle desires of our bodies so we
can create darlings and have the energy to kill
them. Someone opens the fridge door: sshwhult.
Cracks open a can of something: thwsssth.
Every sound is a rock concert. I’m here for eight
hours. Maybe I won’t write anything more than
this poem. Maybe I’ll eat seven cookies, drink
two more cups of coffee, watch the lake lake.
Osmosis the energy of writers gathered in a mansion
bank it in my thighs, under my tongue for later use.
VANESSA SHIELDS 