When I was a baby lawyer I made a friend who made music for people at death’s door.
I felt a kinship because the guidance counselor who discouraged me from applying anywhere but State U told me that was a job for someone who liked music
and I guess I looked like someone who liked music.
My new friend told me she was in a crafting group for girls.
Like a book club with glue!
Newly domestic, rolling napkins and making placards for our first Thanksgiving dinner for two, I asked if I could join.
She cocked her head and smiled, quizzically,
a crafty beaver,
and my friend who was not a friend asked,
But what would you make?
Bitch, I don’t know. A painting? A song? A pile of tiny clay foods?
A poem? A collage? A bracelet made of plastic beads?
A book? A blog? A life? A love?
It took ten years and tens of thousands of words to see she was the one
without any imagination.