It takes what it takes. To hold on or to let go. One reckless dawn, she let go. Of hope. Of trust. Of the benefit of doubt she generously, or come to think of it…stupidly, doled out, as his white lie turned grey and then to a murky, mangled mound of deception. This time, a slow, deliberate, beautiful anger showed up inside her, holding a mirror to her gutted soul. She wrenched this image from reality and sent it searing through a Time warp so she could label it a memory. For years now, she’d had it sliced away leaving a scar…a scar that screams scarlet…still. What made her think of him? She’d put away his shirts. She’d put away the smell of him on hers. And then today, she’d slept in long white tee that he so loved taking off. She held on.
Mindfills for dVerse Prosery hosted by Sarah Southwest. We are asked to write poetic prose of 144 words, that includes the line, “she’d had it sliced away leaving a scar”… from a poem by Michael Donaghy
Tomorrow lies unspelled strewn carelessly across possibility for caprice to rest on numbered blacks and whites of the roulette wheel spinning in glee to the music of tonight as you cast a glance at my open soul paying a toll for half a chance
Truth is Janus faced. Silence is turbulent. The last innocent memory is psychoanalysed as the root of all sadness. Hope hides in endings, never letting go. Never moving on. Winter heals. You change your story everytime you tell it. You change yourself as you tell it. You can manifest anything. It’s also all your fault. If you fail, you don’t get to try again. Or again. These are things they don’t tell us.
The afternoon sun scorches fiery yellow on clear glass windows. From inside my air conditioned office, wearing a grey suit, ready for a Zoom call from Switzerland, I stare at a screen that seems incongruous today, and wait for the host to let me in .
This is mango season. Fruit vendors outside have the best Alphonso mangoes nestled in a bed of real straw. I picture myself later this evening, out of my grey suit, into my Indian cottons, bare feet, sitting with my family, going through each mango with bare hands, juice dripping down my wrists, tasting the best of one more summer.
scented breeze recalls ~a never again childhood running off barefoot
my eyelids close when my clock says so but my thoughts decide to not abide and let in a draft of deep frozen memories to draw runes on my skin along the path your arms used to take to circle me in my sleep
Mindfills for dVerse quadrille, a poem of 44 words, hosted by Sarah Southwest ~ sleep
Yellow lanterns of Laburnum light up that one-way street of summer love, blue skies above, and all that's you and me in this capsule of a day with no because. A gust of wind blows, petals of sunshine swirl like a hurricane of fluffy bees. We laugh as you jump to catch a few and offer them with flair as if I were your girl. Between pages of my days, I've kept them precious till today for how can I be sure I shall see again, the world on the first of May.