My friend Erica and I are both the if-your-fingers-are-busy-then-your-concentration-is-more-focused types. We like to sit next to each other in meetings because we can then present a united front of seamstressery, which is a word I just made up. Erica, an artist specializing in handmade paper creations (her work is stunning), calmly plies her needle while I either knit or quilt. In this way, we can pay close attention to what’s being said. Slow, rhythmic projects that take time and care, like quilting or gardening or cooking or long hikes, both keep me sane and bring ideas floating into my head. When I read this poem by Todd Boss it brought me right back to elementary school, those fat pencils and thick paper with the wide lines. Wooden desks. The whispery sound of pencil on paper. The tangibility of the physical world.

The World Is in Pencil

– Todd Boss

—not pen. It’s got
that same silken
dust about it, doesn’t it,
that same sense of
having been roughed
onto paper even
as it was planned.
It had to be a labor
of love. It must’ve
taken its author some
time, some shove.
I’ll bet it felt good
in the hand—the o
of the ocean, and
the and and the and
of the land.

For more information on Todd Boss, please click here.