I stare at a blank screen and don’t know where to start.

There is far too much inside

and so much I want to say that I don’t even know how

(which is rare for me.)

I am maker of lists, and I write them:

Loss,

Frustration,

Apprehension,

Tension,

Sadness,

Anger.

…the list seethes, with no interesting way to release a single one.

.

‘It would all be fixed,’ I thought. And yet I realize now

there is still so much to fix.

I am sculpture…

Years of dirt and grime removed only to find that there are many cracks.
I don’t know where to start.
No ‘Pieta’, no ‘David’

… more like the clay workings of a grade-schooler and that I must accept.
I am “Ashtray for Dad on Father’s day.”