Frost said a poem begins with a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
Words held back, feelings not felt, stories misunderstood, assumptions not tested, details forgotten or suppressed, joys “undeserved”, shames buried or carried too long, excitements so bold they need protecting, dreams so fragile they can dissolve before they’re spoken. These are the beginnings of my unwritten “poems”.
First, it seems, I safely write about writing.