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Words on a Wednesday afternoon
I used to write every day. Little vignettes. I saw dappled sunlight dance across an unusually reflective surface, and I might type into a text box how my eyes were surprised to trace the line from leafy shadows to metallic umbrella to the rather stupid-looking fellow sporting a close-cropped haircut and athletic shorts underneath, how… — read more
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Madonna Lays an Egg
Fever consumed Madonna. When she woke in the ICU, flashes of memory bombarded her. Nurses and doctors entering and leaving. Faces of loved ones sporting looks of concern and pity. A strange howling from the room next door. And, of course, there was the egg. In her most vivid flashback, Madonna could picture a scene… — read more
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A swell and an ancient drumbeat. A calling to some unknown wilderness. A depth of feeling, trapped beneath calloused layers, roiling now. Legs strong, shoulders back. You watch the placid reflection, unwavering as ache pounds. Desperate rhythm on stony veneer. A flush of the cheeks, the threat of a break. Move those feet and carry yourself away. Forward, forward… — read more
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April’s fools.
How easy to be drawn into new charms. The smell on your clothes after he leaves, and you’re the grinning fool, chuckling into your toothbrush as you recall his clever lines. You snuggle into the white sheets and feel the ghost of his lips on yours. His taste. His force. You feel yourself opening again,… — read more
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War.
He lobs the initial strike, and she, no stranger to battle, prepares her extensive arsenal. Quiet now, she waits. Her attack will be long in coming, and thorough, and he will lie defeated in his ruins. As she polishes her instruments and lays them side by side, she wishes she was never called to arms. — read more
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Flaw Salad 