blank for ink and dreams

a good friend I’ve been missing
an empty space welcoming me
a pen discarded forgotten after checks were written
the back of an envelope room to scribble
to scratch a word
a phrase to revise, and remind,
as the cat starts to step on my shoulders
crisscrossed with scabs from superficial wounds
inflicted by claws that need a trim, but doesn’t
a first
how does he knows this is different from
the million other times I scratch and scribble lists
while he jumps stealthily landing on my shoulders
my back if I have bent over to pick something up
or to put a pot or pan in the cupboard?
a different energy emanates from me
centered, grounded, not frantic,
a return to other days a return
to me to my art to something bigger than
the day to day ins and outs
of running a household a family
a return to my truth, my true friend for a moment of clarity
a moment of peace a sense of completion
before returning back to the dishes, laundry, dinner,
and other relentlessly unending chores
a constant friend I’ve been neglecting forgotten
a steadfast friend always here resting around a corner
of my mind to be rediscovered on
discarded envelopes and blank margins for ink and dreams