Write. Write through mattress-fog, cotton-headed
depression. Write through mania, you manifesting
Maenad-Medusa-Medea. Write with your misfiring
neurons, pull the sword from your brain and let
the grey matter drip words and letters on the page.
Write. Sounds breathe words breathe back
to your story, your beginning. Write until your
hands cramp and the pencil nubs. Write
again. Write with paper, with actions, with breath.
Write. Write with your fingers and tongue. Let
the words scab like blood. Find meaning in thorn-pricks,
cat scratches, cutting. Let the scars tell their stories.
Write. Create your world, your reality, you’re real. You’re
the sharp edge of the blade and the hilt in your hand.
Catherine Fahey is a poet and librarian from Salem, Massachusetts. When she’s not reading and writing, she’s knitting or dancing. You can read more of her work at www.magpiepoems.com.