Slowly, silently, now the moon gives permission. The phlox will bloom And dreams, sticky sweet, will pink the morning. *April is National Poetry month. If you want, join me and lots of other writers as we attempt to write a poem a day. Here’s a link to prompts you can use or ignore: http://www.napowrimo.net
Found harmony in clay and dappled sun. A tomato seed took root beside lavender, and though it rests in the midst of their run between house and tree squirrel, even the dogs have been delicate.
It was the way he stood, ending proximity. His arms folded like a woman clutching her purse in a dark alley. You could fit a counter between us. I could be checking his coat or taking his order at dawn in a twenty-four hour truck stop. In the length of an ellipsis, I wrote a …
As she watched Josiah repairing the wood-stove, she nearly wondered aloud. What the hell was she doing? Why come back here? She had no good answer for that; or, more accurately, the answer didn’t seem enough. This baby. Josie was once almost her father-in-law, but she had walked out on his son and this baby …
To tell the story, I have tried to move the woman across the street. She needs to be in front of the neighbor girl whose eyes will seem to have changed color while the woman was gone for more than a year.
Days like pages of handwritten manuscripts were caught by the wind, rearranged and lost. I will call that editing and leave it be.
Before the beautiful assistant climbs into the box, I leave, afraid he will forget the rest.
I was often sick when I was little. There were excessive bouts of strep-throat and numerous ear infections. They finally removed my tonsils when I was 6, and that took care of it for a time. Later, I seemed to develop a sensitivity to winter, and a persistent bronchitis would set in until spring. But …
Did the NRA really just call the mentally ill “evil,” and assume that all “sane” people are “good?” Really?