by Coreena McBurnie
Here I sit, waiting for inspiration to hit me.
A slap in the face? A ton of bricks?
Something I’ll easily recognize, I hope.
Will I see the inspiration behind my thoughts?
Will I be open to divine intervention?
Would I know a sign,
Even if it had giant, flashing arrows pointed at it?
Would I mistake it for a bug,
Something to swat out of existence before it even gets started?
Or would I be offended because someone had slapped me?
Will I be too busy carpooling, cooking, and cleaning bathrooms
To see what is right in front of me?
I’ll take a minute now,
With the kids screaming,
Figuring out what to make for dinner,
And wait to be inspired.