By Cara Cordova

What should I write this poem about?

Out of thoughts, I truly doubt.

The sun is hot as I sit outside,

I try to think, try to decide.

I scan the empty brain of mine,

Looking for words to make a poem fine.

Finding a topic, I’m having trouble,

Finding rhymes, bursts my bubble.

Something has stopped my knowledge train,

Scattered out on the ground, words are lain.

Looking for words, that at all match,

I think I just, unlocked a latch!

Looking at this paper now,

How words got here, who knows how?