Why do you write? And who are you writing for? Those are the questions posed in Day 4 of the poetry online class I’m taking.
Weirdly, I had already been thinking about this a lot this week.
When I write my morning poems, this practice I’ve drifted away from, I don’t have to think about the why and who it’s for–when I’m actively doing it, those answers are so clear to me.
I write for you, stranger,
who I picture as a version of me
sitting in a cafe
reading and that click
Mostly, I write for me
for the moment at the end of the day
when I am tired, and morning is
long past and I think,
Did I write a poem this morning?
I write for that pink flush of joy
when the answer is Yes.