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I write to remember
        groceries I need
        tasks to do
        bills to pay
        undecipherable cryptic nothings
        things I love

I write to celebrate
        the Earth
        the red earth like no other earth
        the rocks
        the flaming sky
        twisted cottonwoods
        the bottom of the arroyo and what we did there
        rushing brown waters
        winds scattering seeds of weeds and wildflowers
        the smell of rain on dry earth and new-washed sage

I write when I can’t sleep

I write when I can’t stay awake

I write tastes bursting on tongue
        sharp green chiles
        soft creamy yogurt
        buttered toast
        dark black tea
        and ice cream like nothing else

I write to draw tears
        from myself
        from others

Because, yes, I write to be read
        to be seen
        to be heard
        and, yes, to be recognized, though I hate to say it

I write to change the world
        loving it into being on the page
        as it is
        as it could be

I write to understand
        my self
        people I love
        or once knew I loved
        people and places and things I fear
        things incomprehensible

I write to touch
        the world
        my heart
        our hearts

More than anything I write for my sanity
        to not sink into that dark airless well
        to not wade the ocean floor

I write to laugh
        at me
        at you
        at us

I write instead of opening the refrigerator door at 2:14 a.m.

I write when there’s no one to talk to

I write because it pleases me
        to taste the words
        roll them on my tongue

Because it thrills me to read back for my ears only
        a good word
        a beautiful phrase
        a precise one

I write because it pleasures me
        to find the exact word
        to know it is exact

I write because ideas
        burst on the scene
        fire in the brain
        without cessation until given voice

I write to speak for the unheard
        the animals
        the plants
        the little ones
        the wretched of the Earth

I write because I cannot help myself
        I hope it is for good

I write because it is the one thing I must not forget to do
        if I do everything else but not this
        I will have done nothing

I write because I think it matters
        and wonder if this is arrogance

© Anna Redsand 2016 All Rights Reserved
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