The blank page stares.
It knows your weakness,
is your weakness.
It knows how you felt when
you shot that small songbird
when you were ten.
It knows how you were drawn:
smudged charcoal lines,
very little ink, almost no color.
Somehow, the bounce in your step
survived and you discovered how
recognizing your own ignorance
was a gift that eased your hunger.
(bird from etsy.com; charcoal from barbecueorboogaloo.com)