Things I did in November to avoid writing my Novel

I bought a dresser from an estate sale,

I painted it in “Mouse’s Back.” I baked

a Christmas cake, presoaking the fruit in

cognac purloined from the liquor cabinet. I

cleaned out my bathroom drawers, all

those cosmetic samples with their

illusory promises. I wrote a honey-do list

for my husband. He ignored it.

I gathered in the fruits of my garden

a single enormous pumpkin bought

for Halloween and still uncut. I cut it open

discovered a thick substratum of flesh, beading

moisture betwixt seed and skin

I felt parsimonious. I made

And then I made a cup of coffee.

I sat down. I wrote.