I wanted to write you all beautiful poetry today. I struggled with a villanelle and I played around with a pantoum, but nothing worked.

And then life happened and all I wanted to do was lie sleepless in my bed, waiting for a word.  Divine revelation remains elusive in these days.  Between the toddler’s screaming fits, and my son turning the television volume up as loud as it can go, I can barely hear myself think, let alone the still small voice.

I think most, if not all, art is divinely inspired.   At the moment I am incredibly uninspired and my art is suffering.

I need to set an appointment with the Divine, so the poetry can return to my life.

Love,

Mama Radford