Dedicated to Helen Cecilia, aka MOM

It is that time,
the time that the words come,
arriving sometimes
one word at a time,
other times flooding my mind.

Words don’t seem to abide
by a specific schedule.
They may wake me
from a sound sleep
or prevent sleep to arrive.

Those words, sometimes filling pages,
other times a few words
centered on the page
or falling from the edges.
But they are always welcome.

Sometimes rearranging
if not rebelling
against the formidable
to-do list of mundane tasks
and routines.

Housekeeping, cooking,
cleaning, even
those papers already
full of words.

The words are friends
committed to keeping
me honest, challenging me
to face fear
and welcome joy.

The words move me
beyond the place I thought
I wanted to be,
to a place where I can speak
and hear my own voice.


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 now appears weekly on Oddball Magazine.