Shadow Stabbing

Been being literary lately. Joined a Sunday afternoon writing circle. In the ladies lounge the peer pressure of pens scratching across legal pads forces other arty, quirky kids to write. Tuesdays there's Broken Pencil Poets. Presented "What are years?" and "I know a woman lovely in her bones" last night, not as odd coupled as could sound. Reductively, both bout the shapes a bright container can contain. And taking two classes cross listed in the Literature department. Led to argument over blueberry pancakes yesterday morning. Major English dueled with Lieutenant Literature.

Writing you come across yourself repeatedly. Even omitting pronouns and avoiding first person, speaker's always lurking. Today's groundhog day and I see my shadow in a sentence. Falling across the pavement of the page, I darken a screen or sidewalk blinding with sunlit snow. According to the myth, the cold winter's lengthening. But legends lie and I'm no longer afraid of my own shadow, my second self. Not running back to hide in a hole called high school but there is a nook in the greenworld globe room of the library calling my name. Six papers need to write themselves this month and applications due for four summer fellowships before February ends. After all, might be in hibernation till well springs of winter's work dry up.