Lawless Letters

Think about how many times I have fallen Spirits are using me, larger voices callin' … And we never failed to fail, it was the easiest thing to do You will survive being bested Somebody fine will come along, make me forget about loving you - "Southern Cross", Crosby, Stills, & Nash A couple of weeks ago, I was in a mood. An intense, teenage mood: fierce, negative, and hard to get out of (for the record, I'm 20+ years past teenager-hood). It gripped me in its fist. I isolated myself, waiting for the storm to pass, not wanting to rain on my husband and kids. After some analysis, the cause of my mood became clear to me: an accumulation of recent events in which I felt like a failure. No specific event was devastating, but there sure were a lot of them: I’d spent too much money on Zulily (my guilty-pleasure shopping website). I’d consumed too much dessert and alcohol, and the bathroom scale displayed the evidence.  I missed a chiropractor appointmen...

Dandelions are one man’s weed, another man’s gold. Poem Style: Lune

The airplane left Texas behind and soared southward. Nelly looked through the Woman’s Day magazine she had found in the seat pocket. It was from last year, March 1970. She flipped past “Bright, New Spring Fashions.” Then an article caught her eye: “Should a Woman Make a Will?” A stewardess, carrying a notepad, approached. “Tequila, please. On the rocks,” Nelly told her. Suddenly Nelly remembered a story from one of her brother’s old western magazines. A Texan had killed his wife and fled on horseback to Mexico, grabbing what he thought was a jug of water but turned out to be tequila. After several days running from the law, he finally reached the border, sunburned and starving, and fell down dead. Funny that she should recall that story now. Everything would be fine once she got to Mexico City, Nelly told herself. Pete would meet her at the airport. Just another hour. In her lap, her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt. Some motion at the front of the plane caught her ey...

A few years in, it occurred to me I had married a mountain. I mistook rigidity for strength, immovability for loyalty. With shocking speed, your winds would shift, one moment temperate, the next bitter, your anger an icy gale that slashed. I could never see it coming; there was no forecast. I learned to find what shelter I could Until it passed. Your shouts were an avalanche. I threw up my arms to protect my head, sometimes lobbing missiles back, often fleeing to more stable ground. Alarmed, I’d snatch the baby from her crib, my torso curving into a shell to shield her, and run outside. You followed, bellowing that I was the crazy one. At the word “abuse” you were confused, saying I never laid a hand on her. You didn’t see the rocks you threw, nor the cuts they made. How could I have thought a stone could see? It was against your nature. I left when I recognized that it would be madness to try to change the weather. Poetry writing prompt: Incorporat...

Photo Credit: cosmiccrisp.com I really wasn’t looking for an epiphany. All I wanted was a snack. “Hey, Evie! Let’s grab some grub so we won’t be drinking on an empty stomach,” Dana said, wisely. So we walked toward the little shop. Like all the shops along the pedestrian street leading to the beach bars, it sold food, beer, flip-flops, souvenirs, and condoms. Dana strolled inside, but I stopped at the sidewalk, where a black-haired woman was sorting fresh produce into wicker bins. The fruit glowed in the golden light of the setting sun. Oranges, bananas, starfruit, and, to my surprise, apples. The apples seemed ridiculously round, sinfully shiny, impossibly red. Why did they look so irresistible? Was I missing Milwaukee, here, in the middle of the Caribbean? “What kind are these? Gala?” I asked the lady. “Cosmic Crisp. Washington State,” she replied, with an accent I couldn’t place. She glanced at my short dress and smiled. “Heading to the clubs? Try one of these. They...

Photo Credit: wrestlingmedia.org The giant ’s theme music blared. He stepped through the ropes into the ring, waving to the roaring crowd. As he bellowed his catchphrase, “Fee! Fie! Foe! Fum!” he triumphantly reflected on his ascent from beanstalk injury victim to WWE Superstar. Writing Prompt: Tell a story in exactly 40 words about what happens after a fairy tale ends.

Up here, behind the orchard, all is green And lovely as I visit for a spell, Cursing the sun and all its brilliant lies. How dare the sun shine bright as my love lies Interred beneath this silent grassy green? An earth-bound passion held us in its spell. I never thought that such a love could spell Our doom. But Jake did not believe my lies. Deep scarlet drenched a gown of olive green. Stone letters, mossy green, spell “here lies Anne.” Writing prompt: Ekphrastic poetry (describe a work of visual art)