Sunday, November 1, 2009

To Begin

To begin my novel
I clean my teeth
mint clean.
Cleanse my face.
Consider botox.
Look at the palm fronds
in the wind through the
bathroom window.
Check the washing machine.
Check the pool pump.
Note the wind chimes.
Drain my tea cup.
Put on my ugg boots
Light my pipe.
Raise the slatted blinds.
Pour a glass.
Find a CD.
Outdoors, shadows fell on the washing
sheets billowed.
The wind makes it a drying day.
There is a spiders nest in the peg basket.
Boys are kicking a footy in the street
only 128 days to go to the next bounce -
sons of the woman I told this morning
I am a writer
I said it out loud -
nothing happened.

And so I began my novel.

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