Pink Elephant

Pink Elephant NaamaYehuda (2)

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

There’s a very pink

Elephant on the sidewalk

With nail polish

Half done.

Children stare

Babies point

But many others walk on.

As in many a living room

Where elephants silently stand,

Perhaps New York City adults

Aren’t easily stunned.

 

For Square in September

 

Horse Spirit

Photo: Palaeolithic art at Foz Côa’s Archaeological Park, Portugal 

 

“Why do you hit the rock with sharpened stones?”

Golin quaked under The Elder’s frown. It was forbidden to harm The Rocks That Shelter. The big stones protected them from biting teeth and snarling maws. They stopped the wind. They held back scorching sun. They reflected heat from fires.

And let flames paint shadows, Golin thought.

“He will drive away Horse Spirit and we will starve,” Morsen scowled predictably.

“Let him answer,” The Elder said.

Morsen seethed. The old man always favored Golin.

“The Rocks That Shelter do not anger when the fire lives in them,” Golin pointed at the dancing reflection on the wall.

“He makes no sense,” Morsen pouted. A few others nodded but The Elder’s stony gaze did not leave Golin’s face.

“They draw the fire near,” Golin stressed. Couldn’t they see? “Perhaps The Rocks That Shelter will welcome Horse Spirit and call it here.”

 

 

For What Pegman Saw: Douro, Portugal

 

The Service


PHOTO PROMPT © Yvette Prior

 

All was set for the service.

Programs lounged on chairs in the next room. The adequately melancholy music played. Discrete tissue boxes rested at either end of the first row.

She waited as heels clicked on marble and black fabrics swished and the somber faces of acquaintances, rearranged for the occasion, nodded at her. She endured the hugs and shoulder pats and too-long handshakes. She breathed through the words.

The room quieted.

She rose and stared at the ornate urn on the dais before turning to face the living.

“You should know,” she began, “that Dad was not a good man.

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

 

Liberty Sail

Liberty sail IngeVandormael

Photo: Inge Vandormael

 

So she stands in the harbor

Greeting weary souls’ sails.

Her eyes had welcomed

The many

Who fled war, harm, travail.

She faced cannons

Of hardship,

Wept as terror sought

To prevail.

She marks the better

We can be,

The stories nations

Can be proud

To tell.

Through many storms

In the harbor,

She lights the way

In the gale.

As hate now amplifies sorrow

Seeking to see her bounty

Curtailed,

She hopes her pledge ‘cross the ages

Won’t become one made

To no avail.

 

For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: our world