I went to a writers' retreat and I wrote. I came home and stopped writing. Something is going on and I'm not sure what it is but while it works itself out, I'm going to just post interesting thoughts from other people and an occasional past writing such as this poem which seems to fit Deena's thought.
-- Deena Metzger, Writing for Your Life
The Gift Refused
Wrapped in bows and bright paper,
We know it must be for them.
Surely, it can’t be for us.
It sits in the middle of our table.
We walk a wide arc around it,
Knowing it’s not for us.
Gradually bills, catalogs, and Sarah’s shoe
Cover it over till only one red
Corner of the bow peeks out
Luring the kitten whose playful swats
Unravel the string. Diamonds spill
Across the table and onto the floor.