The writer stares at a blank white window, a
Reminder that she must write 1,000 words today. She’s a novelist
With five books, each one starting as empty screen. Who
Knows if this one will finally coalesce. She turns
To another window, sees gray clouds bunch on the
Horizon. The air vibrates, anticipating a feast from tables
Of nimbostratus. Raindrops spell words on
The glass, jolting her fingers to keyboard and a new history.
source: A Novelist Who Turns the Tables on History
Science speaks, but who listens? Crossroads are where
Two sides meet, to yell, perchance to talk. Few
Are comfortable with the uncertainty of a new disease that got
From somewhere to here. We waited anxiously for a vaccine,
But when it came, only half took it. There were many
Who thought the vaccine was a Trojan horse. They have
Refused vaccines until they got sick, then wish they’d gotten
It. They beg for it in the ICU, but now they are too sick.
source: Where Few Got Vaccine, Many Have Gotten Sick
She lunges for the iron door, hoping to escape, but she’s
Just too late. She’s drowning in sparkles of dust that rise in a
Tidal wave. Destiny rings a torrent, echoing the shape-shifting
Stars, who beckon a tease. She reverses the artist,
Sloughs off history, whips coins into a froth. Who
Will drink the potion of morning, glory in the plays
That star her lovers? She’s locked in an iron box where all
Her fears braid chains in crimson, cobalt, waiting for the
Moment that ties her in knots, yet unravels all her parts.
source: She’s a Shape-shifting Artist Who Plays All the Parts
She feels her arms too long, her legs too short
To reach the stars, her desired goal for answers on
The questions that wake her at midnight. How many doses
Of moonlight will awaken her dead mother and
How many sprigs of belladonna will feed the dreams struggling
To strangle her? Will Orion hunt down her demons to
Feed his hounds? Is it Virgo or Hydra who will deliver
Her from Nature’s womb? She submits to the universe, to them.
source: Short on Doses and Struggling to Deliver Them
For swimming in Hades’ lake. She’s told to trim for
Form, but where to begin. Everyone is watching, audiences
Of one or a thousand, hoping she glues herself shut. She can
Blur hopes, but whose desires strangle the night, spin
Her needs to suit the ruling class way over our heads.
source: Rules for Audiences Can Spin Heads
Her spirit rallies while she sleeps under trees, with
No limits. Reality jimmies the lock to her dreams,
Glaze of light bursts borders, crashes onshore, making sport
Of wishes that juggle for attention, nowhere near
Satisfaction. She’s reprieved for a moment, huddles in a
Corner, gathering allies and strategy and tactics, critical
To overcoming reality. No gods rescue her at the crossroads
Of hope and despair, yet she holds close a nostalgia
For the time before birth, when all possibility reigns.
source: With the Sport Near a Critical Crossroads, Nostalgia Reigns
Her hold on power is stronger than gravity. She’s not sorry
She rules. It is her right. We bow before her, we
Bring tribute: sunflowers, mica chips, hummingbirds that aren’t
Quite adult. We crawl before her, caress her feet, going
Back to our cabins refreshed. We return at dawn, back
To groveling, but now she’s impatient, daring to
Demand equality. We do not understand her words. Their
Sound rocks our innards, twisting us into images of movies.
source: Sorry, We Aren’t Going Back to the Movies
I ran into an old friend on the street today. He’s about my age, 70s, more my husband’s friend than mine. I was masked, he was not, so I recognized him before he recognized me.
I commented that it was easier to recognize people by their eyes than I had expected. He commented that I was wearing a mask.
Well, I said, I’m wearing a mask on the street where there are lots of people. He said, we’re outside, you don’t need a mask.
I said, how does it hurt you if I’m wearing a mask? I’m not judging you for not wearing one. (I felt he was judging me for wearing one.)
He said, there’s a little space around your nose where the mask doesn’t fit tightly. I pressed the mask closer to my nose.
I feel safer with the mask. He feels safe without it. We agreed to disagree.
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It’s Slice of Life Tuesday over at Two Writing Teachers. Check out this encouraging and enthusiastic writing community and their slices of life every Tuesday. And add one of your own.
