Paper Tigers

How could a poem about a molecule be made interesting? I looked down at my scratch pad and saw some strained lines about the structure of dopamine. I stared at it until the words turned into fuzzy squiggles, which turned me off to the idea at start.

I enjoy interpreting art--the eureka moment of understanding what the author envisioned, but this makes tending my own poetry seem a dingy slogging task. Seeing my own unfinished product: unwinding the tangled phrases, contemplating rhyme, planning meter and verse. All of these feel like unsightly things reserved for a janitor.

Truly, the most painful part of art is beginning it. While the pen rode over the parchment, I lost track of time, and even when I met a clearing where my poem took a final form, I wanted more. I wanted to feel the pain that marks perfection. So, I spent the night awake, sparring with the English language, forcing it into something closer to what I wanted. This time spent "in the zone," is something I never regret.