By Hannah Beecher
When I pause to write a word
Pen in hand and success assured
My mind goes blank, my memory blurred
I envision myself with tales to tell
Filling large tomes with lots to sell
Alas, those tales have fled my mind
Leaving but empty space behind
Upon the keyboard, my hands sit still
As if all I had was time to kill.
Maybe a nap will restart my brain
But naps can stretch out like the longest train
Leaving me late with a still fuzzy brain.
Hannah Beecher submitted this poem in early April. She has promised to provide biographical information as soon as her writer’s block clears.