Words haunted her, hounded her
Phrases dogged her footsteps,
nipped at her heels.
Thoughts butterflied about her head,
no shoving them away.
Fanciful images and rhyme
began to work they way
into the margins of her mind.
At work, she inked them on her arm
(transcribing them before nightly oblations).
When at last she found her voice,
the words rejoiced, flutterflapping, then
settling on her desk or clinging to the walls
like hastily taped reminders.
Carefully, she pasted them into a book
in a certain order
(like a ransom note)
and the captive was set free.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore