I thought this book was naught but blank white lines
I thought I had as much time as I pleased
to fill its space with all of my designs —
my words, my thoughts on what my fancy seized.
Instead, tonight, I see it, pull it out.
Was it a gift, forgotten on my shelf?
Some tote bag swag, some cannot-live-without-
-it impulse buy I picked up for myself?
Alas, the lines are claimed by months and days.
A planner — week by week it marches on
through last year, this year, ending in its ways
too soon. November’s almost come and gone.
And so, this lapse makes beauty into waste.
A useless jewel — time cannot be erased.
Photo: The “blank book” which turns out to be an 18-month diary. You would have thought I would have glanced at the cover before stashing it away, waiting for inspiration to strike…