I say that has meaning but am timid for what I’ve called out before that didn’t mean much so I let it pass but it persists and tugs like a child on my pant leg and cries or coos or otherwise says, look at me, I matter. Still, I shake it out of my head to make space for what might come with real meaning—something that other people will read and say, ah, yes, yes indeed, that means something. But on the third time as I try to push it out I find it has put down roots and not only is it still there but now it’s grown. So I scramble for my pen and paper like a fisherman with one on the line, cursing and murmuring to myself—I’ve got one, this one means something.