Magic Happens
Maureen Ingram
Poetic inspiration,
waiting
each morning,
for me to discover.
An enchanted stone,
glistening,
in the morning light,
for me to hold and rub and ponder
throughout the day.
I let my mind absorb the mystery of the invite,
fascinated, curious, mesmerized,
followed by
space
to wonder.
That’s how magic happens.
April days floated by
alongside, inside, around, between, and about,
inspiration,
tapping something deep within,
stirring me,
nudging me,
stretching me
in new directions.
I have marveled at the journey,
nuggets and insight found,
surprising visits to time past,
traveling to the edge of places I still did not dare to go.
The charm of your comments
finding light and sparkle in my verse,
hidden messages revealed,
illuminating my writing,
welcoming.
That’s how magic happens.
The glow and beauty of your poems,
your openness and revelations,
how they captivated and soothed,
appearing like angels,
letting me know you, as
loving, familiar spirits.
Your words
carried me to new worlds,
gave me courage to wander there, too, and
provided a glorious shelter-in-place.
A wonderland of poetry shared by you,
this community of teacher writers,
connecting me to you, you to me
creating a lustrous weaving of
written dreams.
That’s how magic happens.
Today,
it is fitting that
there is nothing but grey skies
and so much rain,
tears from nature,
where I am.
I am in mourning
that this month has ended.
I’m on my own now.
Yet, I know,
that’s never really true.
Future mornings,
I will find again
magic stones you left behind,
to hold and rub and ponder.
I will treasure.
That’s how magic happens.