The Writer's Life (Alice Walker)

During those times
I possess the imagination to ignore
The chaos
I live
The writer's life:
I lie in bed
Gazing out 
The window.

To my right
I notice
My neighbor
Is always painting
And repainting
His house.
To my left
My other neighbor
Speaks of too much shade
Of tearing 
Out
Our trees.

Sometimes 
I paint
My house--
Orange and apricot,
Butterscotch & plum--
Sometimes
I speak up
To save
The trees.

The days
I like best
Have
Meditation
Lovemaking
Eating scones
With my lover
In them.
Walks on the beach
Picnics in the
Hammock
That overlooks
The sea.
Hiking in the hills
Leaning on
Our
Hiking sticks.

Writers perfect
The art
Of doing nothing
So beautifully.

We know
If there is
A butterfly
Anywhere
For miles
Around
It will come
Hover
& maybe
Land
On our head.

If there is a bird
Even flying aimless
In the next
County
It will not only
Appear
Where we are
But sing.

If there is
A story
It will
Cough
In the middle
Of our
Lazy
Day
Only once
Maybe more
& announce
itself. ​

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