Process

Ripped jeans and a sweatshirt,

tapping the cap of the pen,

she sits, stare and paper

vacant, and you wonder what’s

behind her eyes, what plans

or dreams, concentration or

boredom she channels into

the incessant flick of her

pen, purple, as it happens—and

upright now, in rapid, pressed

motion across the page with

ink flowing thick as she

leans over creation itself and

writes.