A Writing Shack: A Christmas Wish in the Form of a Poem

25 December 2017:

I understand I live in an apartment,

but I have always wanted

a workshop away from the house.

Not to handcraft floating shelves

from 2x4s or beached logs,

but a space from which to write out into

the world. Something like

Wendell Berry’s Kentucky woods

or Stegner’s California.

I want that silence found through

a simple walk between

oak or pine, through a

simple door, to a simple

desk—with books stacked askew,

papers and notepads full

of pen-scratched dribble.

Is that not the dream

David Gessner made for himself

along the coast of Carolina?

I do not want to disappear,

but I want a writing shack

to turn to, hollering-distance

from the house. I want four walls,

a window, and that ancient

promise that the words will come.

If you sit long enough.

If you wait.

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