I FIDDLED SO LONG
looking for the perfect paper,
perfect pen,
ideal envelope,
and the just-right stamp,
even pondering a run to town
to acquire brand new all these things
and THEN everything would be just right
that I was in danger of never sitting to write.
Oy vey!
* * *
THE PERSON AT THE OTHER END
would be happy for a scribble on an old shopping list.
But see how it’s not about them? It’s about me.
I am embarrassed at the truth of it.
I sit.
I start.
I start page 2 four times, in fact.
In the end, it goes out in the mail,
small victory.
I am back to my roots,
letter writing. Pen on paper.
My mother was a letter-writer, too.
It is good to come back home to it.
But perfectionism had to be fought off
tooth and nail.
Perfectionism, more than anything,
will keep you from going where you need to be.
