A Written Comfort (A Poem)

By Joyce Jacobo

[Author’s Note: A few musings.]

On certain               dreary days          

     my writing

          is less like a medium

                 to shape into new forms

              through careful deliberations

      and more like a gentle creature who

                    creeps up to my side

       then pushes her head under fingertips

           (made numb by shock or grief)

       in the search for affection

           or might even give them a lick

                   with her warm tongue

I tend to write idly for a while

   on those types of days   

      . . . or perhaps to stroke my writing

             (through the analogy

                 of that gentle creature who

                     in my mind

                       whines in gratitude

                         for the attention)

Meanwhile the strain of heartaches

       among other unpleasant things

       will ease for a bit

                        or even just enough

            to approach them anew

              with a clearer mind

       because my writing is that way sometimes

           always there             like a loyal companion

              even when all I can do

                  is just write

                       wistful      nonsensical things

                   for the sake

                                   of constructiveness

                  and to help me wade through

                            the murkier waters

                                       found in life

                                . . . a true blessing

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