I’ve sat here since Wednesday
watching a story unfold
on that snowy, tree-margined page.
Each new track a sentence scribed
by rabbit, deer or squirrel.
Each trail another chapter.
Today, an editor strode
from the north and scribbled
blue-penciled shadows across the hill.
With a great howl, as some editors
are accustomed to speaking,
this one deleted three days work,
scouring that page into
I just saw a squirrel plop
into the snow with a powdery The.
That’s where I differ from Nature.
She doesn’t fear rejection
and never gets writers block.
– Joseph Hesch
© 2015, poem, Joseph Hesch, All rights reserved