The Poetess

It was the twelfth
Of the twelfth
and
11 days ago
She searched for
10 different ways
To say the same thing
Wrote 9 down
Pondered on 8
Chose the best 7
At 6 she thought she was complete
Then decided to use the first 1

In her pursuit to find
The perfect muse
Move away from the vacuous norm
She travelled
Sojourned many less-trodden shores
Met a rainbow of natives
With their golden pots of customs
Learnt popular forms of greetings
In various languages
Their clicks, whistles and phonetics
But only ever spoke in her mother tongue

Although inspired by
The smell of fresh, welcoming exotic fruit
A multi-dimensional array of intricate colours
The wind blowing her thick, jet black comb-twisted tresses
The swish and the swash of waves beating solid rocks
Luke warm coconut water sipped through a stripy straw
The sun casting shadows over weathered palm trees
The rhythmic motion of ebony biceps owned by pedlars massaging their patrons
Tepid salty water occasionally tapping the tips of her toes
She wrote nothing on her pad but, “When?”

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