Stasis

There are times when I resist

letting you go,

in spite of harrowing moments,

long nights lying awake,

wondering,

worrying,

guessing and second-guessing

your motives

and my own,

which I worry are transparent

as cellophane,

obvious as the fear I saw

in your eyes

when I told you that I knew.

But in spite of all the broken oaths,

our desperate search for traction,

grubbing around
in the muck,

as if there were something

to hold onto,

I still hold out hope,

though it be thin as wire,

and my heart bleeds

like rare meat

behind my borrowed smile.

And so we march on,

endlessly engaged

in this pattern 

that looks like dance

but is really a war

that will not lead

to either victory or defeat,

but only stalemate.

For the marrow of the matter

(what we both know to be true)

is that there are times 

(too many times)

when I resist

letting you in.

This is a Sunday Scribblings and Sunday Whirl post.

55 - Art Attack

It landed quietly one morning by the Lakeshore Trail. Runners, cyclists and dog-walkers eyed it in amusement, but kept a wary distance. No one knew where it had come from and what its purpose was. Was it taking over the world, starting with Chicago, or  was it just here to sight-see? They would never know.

Write a story in 55 words, then tell the G-Man all about it!

55 - Jet Plane

I'm leaving on a jet plane.

What fun it all would be,

if only on the other side

there wasn't more work for me.

But I will never let it be said

that I can't be a good sport,

so I'll hop that plane to Chicago

and hope that my trip is short.

À bientôt!

Author's Note: I'm off to Chicago for a couple days, but Dan will stay home with the critters. It's still winter up there, and I'm unhappy about that, but it's all business, so what can I do?


Have you written a story in fifty-five words? Let The G-Man know! 

Disconnect

I need to feel connected
even if I cannot trust.
Too long I've lived in the desert
starving for something more
than dry rations
from your pack.

I am fed,
but not nourished.
Enduring,
but always empty.

Surviving on whims and wishes
amid the destruction of our past,
I long to taste the burning sweetness
of your lie,
the creamy confection
of false promise.
With whipped cream
and a cherry on top.

An indulgent feast of fantasy
would sustain me one more day,
and break the monotony
of this diet
of truth,
separation,
and alone.

This is a Three Word Wednesday post

55 - Hill Country

It had been a long and dusty drive through the Arizona and New Mexico deserts, then five hundred miles of Texas plains. Just when she couldn't take any more, prairie gave way to green rolling hills and cedars. 

As she looked over the lush landscape of the Texas hill country she knew she was home.

Author's Note: This summer will mark 39 years since my family moved from Fresno, California, to San Antonio, Texas. After all those long hot days driving across the desert, reaching the Hill Country was like waking up from a bad dream. It still affects me that way today.

Have you written a story in fifty-five words? Let The G-Man know! 

Limbo

I bask in the glow of your promises,
but I know they are just words:
light like feathers,
less substance than air,
and less useful.

Believing would make me look the fool,
unless this time they’re true.

Then what?
Is it too little, too late?

Raise your hand if you know the answer.

No matter what I choose, I’ll come to grief,
and so I wait, in liminal space,
in a bubble,
as if under water.

Holding my breath.


This is a Three Word Wednesday post.

Blunted Edges

It was all angles once,

jagged edges,

quick to cut,

like a teenage girl

off to college

certain of her certainties

and disdainful

of careless handling.

But rivers are inexorable,

submitting all

to the rough and tumble;

the thunder of falls

and the swirling of eddies.

What emerges

is a softer thing,

still strong,

but now gentle, too.

Author's Note: I picked up this piece of old tile along the Quechee River in Vermont.

This is a Sunday Scribblings post.

55 - Bluebonnet Season

Harbinger of springtime

in the Central Texas hills.

For a few weeks each year

they turn the green fields blue.

Buffalo clover

Wolf flower

Conejo

Forecast like the weather,

they inspire photo-ops,

picnics,

and long weekend drives.

Loved by Indians and padres alike,

and now a tourist favorite,

it wouldn't be Texas without

Lupinus texensis.

Have you written a story in fifty-five words? Let The G-Man know!