Dry Ink Days

The pen lies there,

cap off, dried out.

Like me.

July, stark white squares,

a grid of nothing planned.

Pulled it down for the dentist,

a small, necessary pain.

Saw months of blankness,

a forgotten space.

No birthdays circled,

no trip, no lunch, no friend.

Just days,

empty boxes waiting,

for something to fill them in.

But the ink is gone,

and the page stays clean.