Richard Xiao

Frosty Writing

We sit with pens between our fingers

Florid thoughts race through our minds

No words on the whiteness of the paper

Glued inside the walls of our heads

Hands tremble and shake in anticipation

Three chimes ring the air

We jump at the sudden shriek of sound

Our hearts beat fast like a tuning fork

The sky outside like a silk sheet draped over the sky

Trees brown and bare

standing weak in the weather

The frailness of the plants

Sparks the inspiration

Warmth travels through the fingers

and hands tumble and swirl

while stories condense on blue lines