~*~

I sat by my open door for a while that night, listening to my mom’s tears and my sisters’ steady breathing from across the hall. It was nights like these when I felt dark thoughts knocking at my head, trying to get in, to tear me apart. I pushed them away and got up, closing my door and walking back across the room to my desk where Bob Chamsky was still trying to tell me about Cars, Trucks and Automobiles. The search bar seemed to call me. But to what?

….find a blog that interests you....

I wasn’t really interested in cars or trucks. I wasn’t interested in baseball, or in school or college or Ally Anderson. All I was interested in was stopping the sound of those soft, choking sobs that still echoed through my ears long after my mom had gone to bed.

What could I find that would do that?

I tried to think of things that my mom liked. Coffee. No, I needed deeper than that. Shakespeare maybe? Or just poetry in general?

I switched over to Google. It was easier to navigate than Blogger, and I was in a hurry.

Poetry blogs. I typed, my fingers flying like spider legs across the keyboard.

The first few looked either mundane, cliche or too creepy. Figures. I thought. Most Americans only write stuff that’s boring, dark or dangerous. My mom didn’t need anything like that. She needed to be happy.

I scrolled to number four on the list: The Whimsical Musings of a Modern Day Poet.

I clicked. It was a pretty standard blog, but a quote at the top was what caught my eye. It read,

“Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.”

~William Shakespeare

I’d found the one I was interested in.

~*~

I read for hours, the burning desire to please my mom spurring me on until I found myself genuinely wrapped up in the words. Some of the blog was composed of original poems; other posts were made up of Shakespeare, some Dickinson, and a few others I’d never heard of. The original pieces were beautiful. It was a kind of poetry I’d never read before: earthy, realistic, but simple and beautiful all at once. It made me want to write my own. I sat down to write my summary, surprised at how easily words came into my mind. Reading for so long had sort of warmed me up for writing. The words seemed to write themselves, spilling onto the page with a chaotic speed but a decided rhythm. By the time I finished it was past five o’clock and the sun was just peeking over the horizon.