In my creative writing class this past week we were talking about ‘attention’ and the perils or limitations of distractions. So, as a sort of Zen exercise, we simply looked at our pens and started to describe them, to write about what they do, or how they accompany us, wand-like, throughout the day, . . . .my students wrote and wrote and came up with some great openers they read aloud. So I joined them. Starting with the words ‘My Pen’, I wrote:
My pen makes fluid blue marks on a page,
notes born in my mind’s eye or ear,
words formed more naturally in some way
than keyboard clicking that captures concepts
in Times New Roman script appearing,
as though by magic, a few feet in front of me.
These words I write now,
these Signo Uniball etchings
are physically connected to me
–to the pads of my fingers,
to the tendons in my wrists,
to the muscles in my arm, and,
via neurological pathways,
to synapses firing images in my brain.
That must change what I say. Somehow.