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pondering my fountain pen
November 9, 2011
when the black
ceases to flow, I know it’s time
to open the vessel;
it spins to open,
offering me its empty shell, used up,
stained with remnants of former glories;
old soul gone,
I find a new one and hold it
up to the light; it brims
with ink, promises
new stories, ideas, the perfect words—
and now, to paper.
© Cara K.,Cheney, WA
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