(Originally appeared in The Philadelphia Inquirer)
The wine soothes,
as words rattle the bare spaces
in my head-
Vowels and consonants playing
checkers and make-believe
cutting and rolling each other-
My struggle is now
to order it all- as if rows could be made.
An angry beehive of letters,
and words spare of meaning,
attempt a parade in my brain.
I sip away the syllables,
as one by one
they all come marching
on the page.
Andrea Jazwiecki 2004