The Interior Life

by Judy Katz

What if the mind doesn’t like to be followed 

all the time.  Every morning, the pen noting 

it went here, it went there.  Maybe it’s tired 

of the hand, that paparazzo in the bushes,  

always waiting for it to form an interesting  

thought.  And consider:  on an evening stroll,  

when it seems to forget the word streetlight  

or the name of that old acquaintance,  

who’s to say it’s not trying to buy a little time,  

give us the slip for a while. Don’t we all want  

to walk out of the house alone sometimes,  

think our own thoughts?  Even the interior life  

needs an interior life. 

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