Poetry: Writer’s Block

Dear Writer,

I am a soft cloud over your sky,
the little laughter after you cry.
I am in the ant you didn’t think of
the little bracelet the prisoner called cuffs.
I am the melanin popping in Libya,
the whistle blown to sue some seats in Nigeria.
I am the first thought of your morning,
the eyes that will read without pouring.
I am the husky voice of that girl,
the fading necklace the old woman calls pearl.
I was Monday
I became Tuesday.
I will return tomorrow
I want to talk of your sorrow.
I am the anaphora of a bird in a flock.
I will shield your laziness whenever you feel blocked.

It’s me, Santa with your socks.

Ruddapoet