There’s a little
On the go,
As the other
Hopes its own
There’s a little
On the go,
As the other
Hopes its own
“They bow, you see,” Mir explained.
The child held on silently to his hand.
Mir peered down at the small head, so uncharacteristically still, the red curls shining like molten gold under the sun.
The quiet lingered and Mir did not break it. More words would not change how there was only so much one could say about some things.
A bird fleeted close. A bee buzzed by. Somewhere a donkey brayed and a dog’s bark answered.
Still the child did not move.
Mir let the air in and out of his lungs mark the passage of time, even as he knew it would not be measured in the same way by the child. Nor would it matter. Time is rarely what it seems to be, anyhow.
The air shimmered. The scent of smoke wafted from someplace beyond the fields, and in it mixed the faintest hints of manure and baking bread.
A caterpillar inched its way atop a blade of grass.
“There is no wind,” the child finally noted.
“There is not,” Mir confirmed.
“Are they tied together?”
“They are holding limbs.”
The child looked at her own hand in her grandfather’s. She did not look up, but Mir could feel the connection being made as it wove a thread of understanding between the two of them, between them all.
A hush fell. Then a sudden breeze rippled through the field and whistled an unnamed sound as it passed through the stacks. The tips nodded.
The child bowed back.
The water glistened.
Gloria shook. “I don’t think I remember how.”
“Just do it,” Jody said. “It’s like riding a bike. Your body never forgets.”
I never had a bike, Gloria thought, and there is much I worked hard to have my body forget. Especially since that day.
“It’ll come back to you,” Jody urged. Ordered, almost. “Dive right in!”
It was the edge in the trainer’s voice that did it, and what it brought back was not welcome.
“No.” Gloria pulled her swim cap off. “Not here. Not yet. Not today.”
The long night arrives
Wrapped in ends
And threads of hopes.
Of what may come
As unfettered souls
Are finally free
Becomes its own
No more an actual
Note: The photo depicts an ancient burial cave in Israel
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Night
They’ve left the fridge door open.
The cool pooled close,
Into the space
As if the halo of it
For the life
That no longer
In these rooms
That still echo
With the sounds
Of “please don’t!
Not the kids!”
There’ll be no mischief
Best make sure
That you stay
In the shallows,
If you don’t
Wish to meet
Claws as gallows.
There will be no
Till wings let you
So since you are yet
You will heed
By your elders.
“Is it a mongoose?” Molly squinted.
“Kind of cat.” Alfred raised his camera.
“No cat nor mongoose. It’s a Fossa. Belongs to the Viverrids.” Know-it-All Natalie noted, head-to-toe in expensive expedition gear.
“Vye-ve-whats?” Molly blurted.
Alfred shot Molly a warning glance, but it was too late.
“Viverrids. Civets. Genets. Or, if you need the very basics: Mammals. Endemic to Madagascar. Carnivorous. Eat lemurs, mostly, though they won’t turn their nose at lizards or birds or tenrecs.”
Alfred sighed. There’d be no stopping the Nataliepedia now. The woman was the bane of their group. He eyed the animal. Vye-ve whatever. Looked like dorky cougar to him.
“Nice fur,” he tried.
“You better not even think of it,” Natalie admonished, delighted. “They’re protected by fady. That’s local for taboo, in case you didn’t know that, either.”
Bet you aren’t, Alfred grumbled internally. Are fossa too fussy to have YOU for lunch?
A warm dinner.
Wood enough for warmth
What millions would call
The very lap of
Feel the midday
Sense the gently
China they’re intent
Make the most
It previews warmth
So close behind.
There stands the empty crib
The room that will not hear
The sounds of cries or coos or laughter.
There are the walls,
For the awaited,
For a broken chapter.
Breast and breath
For an eternity of loss,
Till the hereafter.
Note: Dedicated with love to all empty-armed mothers (in all their manifestations and realities and outward presentations), on this Mother’s Day.
original fiction, rhyme and photography
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