My Muse Went on Vacation But Didn’t Take Me

She abandoned me because I didn’t love her.

I was sitting in my easy chair, wondering why I couldn’t write a word on the page. I thought about the cursor teasing me when a text message appeared on my phone. I looked at it with curiosity because an image was attached. Should I open it, I thought. It could be a virus waiting to pounce from the online bushes. However, the title of the message was intriguing. It said in all caps, “HOW YOU DOING WITHOUT ME?” It was provocative, so my thumb opened it.

It was a panoramic view of an ocean. The bluest ocean I’ve ever seen. A white sandy beach caressed the shore of this marvelous body of water. The sky was clear like a freshly washed glass. It was a postcard beautiful. I was envious of the scene because the Midwest is a fridge, snowbound circle of winter hell, so I wanted to rest my weary mind in the azure water of that marvelous scene.

Another ding bounced out my phone. It was a second image. It was a brown well-manicured hand whose five fabulous digits caressed a tall glass filled with a tropical mixed drink. An umbrella lay lazily to the left of the glass. I wanted to wrap my lips around the straw and take a long and lingering sip from that tantalizing liquid.

It dinged again. I was eager to open the next one. It didn’t disappoint. Two long and lean mahogany-hued legs with French manicured toes stretched out across my phone. The tops of the feet glistened with grains of fine white sand.

Another image arrived. A big and curly afro filled my screen. It was gorgeous. Sand danced in the curls like small children in a fantastic forest. Water glistened in each bouncy strand.

Who is this, I wondered. If my wife were to see these, my new address would be the dog house. However, the last image drove it home like a nail meeting a hammer. It was the face of the individual. A smooth brown face looked back at me. Full and strong lips joined almond eyes. These same lips once upon a time whispered in my ear sweet words that seemed kissed by God. Those same fingers held mine in times when the world seemed it was crumbling.

My muse was on vacation, and she didn’t take me.

Her last words were that you abandoned me, and I will return when you appreciate me again.

My heart fell into a black hole. No wonder I didn’t write for the whole month of March.

She was right. I did abandon her for other things. I chose to walk away from the screen when I couldn’t hear her clearly. I looked to other endeavors such as career or housework. If I was inclined to write, I made excuses. I don’t have time. I have no engagement in the online writing world. I was at the juncture of why bother putting words on paper. No one is listening, and why waste time.

I am not a superstar with 10’s of thousands of followers. They can write about anything, and eyes gravitate. Therefore, they must possess more talent than me, and my muse must be second-rate, so I ignored her beauty.

I undervalued the importance of her role in my writing life. In times of darkness, she lit a match and illuminated the possibility of my words. The possibility I could write something that would not only mean something to me but to a reader. Her light leads me to become a light for someone else.

When I was in the cold world of writer's block, and a biting wind knocked my pen from my fingers, she wrapped a blanket across my shoulders and put the pen back in hand.

I thought of all she did for me; I looked through the images once more. I gazed at each one and shuddered at my callous and cold attitude towards her. Yet, God gave this gift to me and I threw her away like household trash.

She gave me the words to win my wife years ago. I wrote poetry she painted across my soul. I won poetry slams and praise for my work because of my muse’s wordplay. She stood behind me like Angela Davis with an afro pick in place and fist raised as I spit words about my black experience.

I am an award-winning playwright because of her support and ever-loving gaze. I saw my work performed on stage across the community. She gave me those gifts, but as we writers do, we sometimes forget. We lose our way and get lost in the forest of forgotten inspiration.

Her magic moved an 11-year-old boy to read my work and be inspired. He performs one of my signature pieces “Hey Black Man” across his hometown. He is a little superstar all because he brought my words to life. My muse gave me that gift.

However, as she relaxes in the sun, she inspires me to write. So, I am bringing her home with every word I write.

I hope she hears the call. Even from afar, she is whispering through the ether. I am reminded of the love we’ve shared. As she rests on the beach and bathes in the sun, I knew she wants to return to the warmness of our words.

Maybe there is a tingling in her heart as I write across the void. I am nothing without her verbal magic. I pray she appears soon and blesses me with her gifts.

If you have a muse, please cherish her and enjoy the joy she brings to your life.

Thanks for reading and peace.

If you enjoy the scribblings of a southern transplant living in the Midwest, you can donate at KOFI. Thanks in advance for your support.