LORRAINE GIBSON
Dear Mouse-Pad Small rectangle pillow for the weary writer such comfort you bring to my slim wrist each morning in the spring in winter in every season here upon my desk you cherished, water-proof spawn of a silicone machine. Sweet little mouse pad, I lean into your colours the black and gold of you the skin and sun of you the hot red earth bearing Aboriginal shapes and symbols waterholes and campsites rocks and rivers, reminders of being outdoors—not sitting writing to what and for whom is often unclear. Some days I skate across your surface —tiny ice-rink for a hairless mouse. Left and right—forward back—round in circles in some manic dance.
You lead me on a path towards elusive metaphors and hidden similes. I shape-shift and twist around your willing surface seeking inspiration. Some days you are Loki the trickster promising Valhalla only to pause somewhere between the sticky work of coffee stains and procrastination.
© Lorraine Gibson 2024 January POETRY & WRITING © liveencounters.net
