The Blank Page

-
In the morning
I open my notebook.
It stretches and blinks,
and finally settles on the blank page.

Create, it says,
it commands.
It will even help me by suggesting
to write a title before I enter a post.

I stare at the white hole within the dark border.
Nothing happens.
There is nothing to create.
My mind is as empty as the page.
No, not even so.

My mind is as full
as the page is empty.
Full of to do lists,
appointments,
anecdotes told by the children,
an intended dog walk.

There is no room,
no space for anything new.
There is no
time to murder and create.

All I can do is Ctrl T
— turn the page —
and move on.