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Sport 40: 2012

Channelling

page 390

Channelling

We are all channelling something.
Before I begin writing I channel anxiety, anger and irritation.
I wander away from the making of words
and hang curtains that I find are two inches too short.
Young girls ring the doorbell and, dressed in long
gingham aprons, offer me free biscuits they say they’ve made.
I smile and thank them thinking—this will feed the birds.
They stand for a while, channelling silence and shyness
and some kind of secret about baking and being a child
and taking your wares to strangers, door to door,
on a bleak Sunday afternoon, not knowing what to expect.
They are channelling a fairy story, with a happy ending or a surprise.
When I was in love I channelled pure pain and misery
and craved the intensity of gratification that only comes
with believing: you know the ending and you have written it.
Today I am channelling all the other writers I have read
who have had one or more books published and won awards.
I am allowing them entry into my treacherous soul,
as if they are offering me free biscuits they have baked
and I am pretending I will feed them to the birds.