Prompt 1
Slamming
the door
in my
face,
she said
nothing.
That
should’ve
told me
everything.
Questions without Answers – Hour 1
Where will I be when I am not
here
in this light
in these days?
Will I have done enough
here
with this heart
with these hands?
What imprint will I leave
here
on this family
on these loved ones?
If time has no end,
Will I?
1 – Going, going someday
“Are you going out for your mom’s birthday?”
It was a question.
The question.
Last question.
The end came long before.
It was triplets screaming
Fists POUNDING
Faces red
While he scrolled his
Phone.
Forgetting a weekend class,
He heard about 20 times
Flowed in a stream
Where the ripples always
Washed up
Dirty dishes
Forgotten trash
Unchanged diapers.
Such a stream reeks.
Eventually,
Everyone will move.
No one needs 6 kids alone.
But no one needs a
Person watching Netflix,
Toddlers running,
Tearing into the fridge,
Ripping down the shower curtain.
Netflix
Unpaused.
If he crawls on my body
After never touching me
With a brush of the hand
Or slight lip glance
It makes my skin tighten
And my body roll away.
He won’t leave,
On this day
When he mistook my mom’s birthday
For a weekend class.
He would do nothing either way.
Netflix
Cell phone
Napping.
Toss the coin.
But I will leave.
Hopefully.
After class.
After dinner.
Hopefully.
Soon.
No. 5
The golden hills of California burn red with wildfires. Raging across the landscape, consuming all in its path. The flames swallow up wildlife, leaving behind scorched scenes of devastation; still smoking, blackened as a fish on a Cajun grill. Eventually, life springs back as flora and fauna find a foothold in the wake of destruction. Until the next time.
Prompts Hour Two
Text Prompt:
Use one of the following titles as a jumping off point:
The Joy of Unseen Things
The Dog
Island
Long Run at Dawn
Coffee & Change
Image Prompt:
Rebecca: To Tie Firmly, To Bind
She wanted me to call her Rebecca.
I complied.
But not at the end.
Twenty-three years ago today,
My brother called.
She’d died of a stroke in the night.
“Mom’s dead?” “Mom’s dead?”
My then six-year-old son reported my reaction.
I have no memory of my words.
Only incredulity
Only dismay
Only shattering
How I remember her final words:
“You, your brother, and your sister are my
Greatest gift to the world.”
Mom’s final gift to me
A blessing without end
Rebecca’s memory a blessing.
With my crappy mood
ginally finally out of its shell,
it is breakfast time
Hour 1: Training at Ned’s Point
Training at Ned’s Point, Mattapoisett, Massachusetts
The lighthouse, white
washed brick stands
stark against the matte
grey, winter waves,
darker than the leaden
steel clouds, my breath
hangs in the air, a puff
of steam captured in a mask.
It sits, as grumpy old New Englanders do
cold and silent, watching.
Seagulls dart over the tarnished silver
surface of the sea, but human
trash is easier pickings.
Rats of the Sea
Ocean pigeons
Dropping discarded wrappers
on the rocky beach.
Every Saturday morning, we bow
to the East, the tides
silent against the rocks. Boats
in their moorings sheeted white
with plastic and snow.
Submerging, the pain is instant.
An exquisite icy blow
shocks me alive,
pins and needles
more electric than Afib paddles.
I shake
red and blue
dripping on the beach.
Its lines have long since
smoothed into aesthetically pleasing curves;
its jagged character flattened.
Vessels crowd wooden docks,
glistening, reflecting the polished
sheen of privilege.
Quiet and still more often than not.
I wish I was more
like the lighthouse
like the sea
like the boats.