Some of the rocks at America’s Stonehenge,
Photo by Stan Shebs, via Wikipedia
These words are heavy,
even those that have no weight.
A the or feel, for instance.
I have to drag them from
that deep pit of rubble,
whence they come out
rough and shabby.
Sometimes they stay that way,
these words with which
I build fences and houses,
because I’ve never learned
the polisher’s skill. I can fit and cut
to make a strong wall,
one sturdy enough to hide behind,
but not defend myself.
Today, I hauled up another block
of my quarry to build a cathedral
called a novel. Hope someday
I can erect a Stonehenge at least.
Today, I restarted working on my dream project, a long form work centering around the battles of Saratoga and a young woman named Trish Bodden’s role in the run-up and aftermath of those early autumn days of 1777. As you can see, I find this backbreaking work. But I’ll get to my Stonehenge, Brit or Yankee, someday.