Josephine Montgomery

Suzy’s playing Chopin on her Baby Grand today

A nocturne always helps to chase creative block away.

Anna’s waltzing by herself to the strains of Johann Strauss

I smile and retrace my footsteps and walk back to my house.

The iris bed needs thinning, but that’s an easy fix,

Perhaps it will inspire me to finish chapter six.

Separating rhizomes sets creative juices flowing

I scribble thoughts on seed packets I’ve kept for summer sowing.

Sitting on a garden seat that I named Chapter Two

I imagine a colorful character who knew just what to do.

Last chapter is the arbor covered densely by wisteria

Here I wrote the final plot without yielding to hysteria.

Gardens swings are Chapters, too, there’s Eight, Fourteen and Nine,

All three have rocked me gently to help find that elusive line.

Whether you play Chopin or waltz around the room alone,

Or name the garden furniture after chapters you have honed,

You might be thought eccentric, but that’s what writers are,

We enter strange and secret worlds and often travel far.

Our souls are fellow travelers who perch there for a while and

 When our journeys over we hold our book and smile.

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