The Muse swirls in, her rainbow scarfs shimmering.
She whispers and is gone. Catch it if I can.
That’s the solo part of writing. The inhaling of words, the exhaling through the pen.
Collecting them, reading them, refining them, that all begins to engage the village.
Once I decide to publish some of the poems, I am helpless without the assistance
of others. I am so grateful to all who helped me launch “Mother, May I?”