Writer's Block

Staring out the kitchen window I’m searching for the metaphor. I watch the dirt under the bark mulch, turn the soil, and foster my expectations till harvest.

Not just right.

So I look to the stove where the orange teapot cracked under the electric coil; the water, just at a boil, scalded and steamed and hissed down into its inner workings. I had some fear but I sopped it up with a rag, remembering how to unhinge the coils from their plugs. I threw the ceramic in the dumpster in anticipation of hearing it shatter.

© Jennifer Chaussee

 

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