Writer’s Procrastination

Begin a novel with poetry

Photo by David Barajas on Unsplash

They are here. Brief, fleeting images poking at me like
impatient children; an antique cadence to the salt air rushing
past, the seductive give of pine needles beneath my feet, a
rumble of fog on the horizon waiting for the call to march ashore.

I witness them all in the moment, but they urge me into
the past, to a story yet written. Forbidden love, desperation, broken
bodies, whispered devotions lost to the tsunami of time. A classic tale
told time and time again — the way they touched in the shadows

of civility, met on darkened beaches and forgotten crevices
of shoreline, how they found each other behind the windswept
watchful eyes of a burgeoning town, spurred by distrust from
a society to which neither truly belonged. Their shadows wait

longingly by my side. I must first acquaint myself with their world,
de-clutter the past, sift through names and dates, catch their spoken
promises in the rustling of raven wings, define the blurred edges
of their coupling with my own words. Facts are not so important,

they tell me. Few remember the truth. Write the story, they
tell me. Put our names to paper. Call out our histories. Illuminate
our love so we may thrive beyond the shadows. Tell our story
so we may yet live again.

author, poet, storyteller, podcaster, mother, wife, traveler, questioner annefricke.com

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store