[ Untitled ] A Poem by Mary Knowles I sigh. Poems are hard to write, and I have to write one. I am not exactly a poet, though people guess that I am, the same people that think I must dance ballet because my hair is in a bun. I want to be a writer in the future, a newsgirl, but not a poet. But I remind myself, any kind of writing is hard work, like mentally breaking up earth, plowing fields and sowing many sentence seeds. With the warm laptop on my lap, the washing machine oscillating and the finish line in sight, I stare down another assignment. And I like the click of the keys, even when it’s mostly the backspace key, the lightning of thought striking screen -- and occasionally, as Mark Twain would say, the lightning strike of the perfect phrase. Someone once said, “When I run, I feel God’s pleasure,” and I say, when I write, I feel God’s pleasure, ...