She wrote and wrote and wrote
And for all her efforts collected piles of rejection letters
Some kind
Some generic
Some very bitter and acidic

But she wrote and she wrote and she wrote
Notebooks full of poems and stories about people, things, ideas

Then one day it seemed that the words stopped
She tried to find them
She prayed for their return, even went into therapy to find them
Only to realize the therapists were more intrigued by her story than her dilemma!

The words taunted her, whirled around her
But none could be captured or coaxed to linger or sit on a page

Maybe it was all the disappointments…
The details of everyday life being too much
Years passed but there were no words written on paper,
Unless you count her signature on checks and lists of things to do
Sometimes she tried to call to them
But the words were stubborn and would not return
It seemed that the decades lead into centuries

One day the words returned
Casually, barely noticed
Appearing first on crumbled pages and then filling notebooks

Now they are reunited, she and her words
And she writes and she writes and she writes


Janet Cormier is a painter, writes prose and poetry, and performs comedy. JC prefers different and original over pretty. She loves collecting stuff, but cleaning not so much. Janet also talks to strangers… a lot. Her column appears regularly in Oddball Magazine.