There seems to be no door, no window.
I didn’t know it looked like this.
Are there things to say?
Are there things to talk about?
But the effort that goes into putting them on paper is more than I can manage.
I write a sentence.
Was it easier when we used white out and at least the ghost remained?
Did the white ghost haunt you enough that you were forced to contemplate your thoughts.
Is there an easier form?
No, I haven’t been reading much.
No, I haven’t been thinking much.
Writing from memory.
Thinking about the past is sad.
So I stare at the wall.
Looking for a sliver of light.
A crack in the rocks.
A breach in the solidity.
It comes in a poem.
But that is just the prayer to put in the crack.
Lois Rubin Gross is a librarian, storyteller and book reviewer.