The Whirlwind Review
Issue 1


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Sharon Carter

Ars Poetica

Each morning I remove yesterday’s ashes,
add kindling, last week’s paper.
The stove won’t light itself—
I need insights, one perfect word
sparking another.

Outside a flicker digs bark
beetles from Douglas fir.
He stabs, swallows, attacks again—
the way I flip
through my thesaurus, try
various nouns, switch
heads from front to back,
remove limbs, antennae,
create a better bug.

So much depends on the muse’s
presence. She is never languid—
her temperament more akin to carpenter
ants who excavate my cottage walls—
some scurry in circles,
or like the woodstove
roar into action, only to burn
themselves out.
I swivel back and forth in my chair.
Wait.





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