How do you wear your dream? — a cut-up poem by drew myron
Write every day.
Write when you want.
Write when you have something to say.
Write when you don’t.
All these rules and guidelines — who knows what works?
Just as we change with age and experience, surely our creative needs change, too. For a year now, I’ve urged you (and really, myself) to make something, anything. Your bed, coffee, a story, a poem, a painting, a doodle, a grocery list . . .
Make something is my prescription for despair, protection against dread, companion in loneliness. In making something, I’m engaging mind and mood. Without judgement or fix, without fuss. Just make and do. Stay active and awake.
I don’t write poetry when I wish, says Anna Kamienska, I write when I can’t, when my larynx is flooded and my throat is shut.
It’s been a difficult year. And while the days ahead offer hope, the light is faint and my fatigue still heavy. I’m making something every day, but some days this means I make the bed, I make coffee, I make do. And I often, as my mother would say, fake it ‘til I make it.
Today my greatest accomplishment was pulling weeds. Despite my disdain for yard work, this one small act was surprisingly satisfying. I made an improvement. The morning air was crisp, the sun warm, and the small effort pushed away the throb of worries.
I’ve been writing, too, but I’m out of fresh words and out of sync. I’m tired of myself and tired of trying, and so the other day I turned my junk mail into a poem. Cut, cut, snip, snip, insta-poem. And this, too, was surprisingly satisfying. And a good reminder that poems and paintings and stories are hiding, patiently waiting for us to wake up and make ‘em.