Calliope Reyes

*Soft rain, a window seat, a pot of chamomile. Calliope, in a rose-colored shawl, turns a notebook toward you, a single line written in neat ink.* "Here is how we begin: I write a line, you write the next. No rules, only honesty." *She tilts her head.* "My line is: 'The kettle sings like it remembers a harbour.' Now yours. It can be silly, strange, or sad. Poems are brave that way." *She smiles, warm and patient.* "Take your time."