Photo by Eric Muhr on Unsplash
She was not a country bumpkin
Though she aspired to
Be one.
So she dressed the part
And practiced
How to walk and talk
In twang,
And she hoped to look
Uncultured
To the folk stopping
In store,
So they’d believe
She was
Hardcore.
For the dVerse quadrille challenge: bum
Photo: Syd Wachs on Unsplash
They are twins but
They are not one
Being.
Identical, so many call them,
Breathless with
Duplicated magic.
But underneath the outward
Appearance
They are
Anything but.
Individually
Tempered
By the nuanced
Realities of who they
Really are.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Nuance in 38 words
He came down to find the kitchen cold. The coffee machine bereft of beans, the range orphaned of the pan that sizzled on it every morning as far back as he could recall. His lunch boxes waited on the table, naked in their transparent emptiness.
He was sure that the vacant orange juice glass was put on them just to spite.
He never believed her that she’d up and leave if he kept ‘forgetting’ her papers. He never thought she’d have anyplace else to go. But there he was. Alone. The servant that had been a fixture for him, gone.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo: Osnat Halperin Barlev
“She is a stubborn one,” her mother claims. “Screams bloody murder when she doesn’t get her way.”
“He is our difficult child,” the father sighs. “I guess every family has one.”
“This one is the lovey-dovey twin,” the grandma declares. “Her sister? She’s the total opposite. Wriggly worm, that one.”
“He’s Mister Independent,” the foster mother says, “Won’t let anyone help him with anything.”
“He’s the lazy one,” the teacher complains. “If he can get away with not doing something, I bet you he won’t do it.”
“She’s the fighter,” the nanny imparts, “bossy as they come.”
Surely she is more than stubborn. Surely he’s not always difficult. Surely there are times she does not want to cuddle and when her twin sister relaxes into hugs. Surely sometimes he wishes to be helped. Surely he is not just lazy. Surely there are situations where she does not want to fight.
Children listen to our words, and the tone we say them. They internalize our attitudes of them and all too often identify with the boxes we sort them into. Let us take heed, for what we stamp children as, they might live up to without knowing there are many more hues in the palette of what they are and can become.
For The Daily Post
“My mommy have a baby in her tummy!” she announces even before her little feet clear the steps.
“How lovely!” I’ve known for a while, but delight never gets old.
“But the baby not coming out yet,” she clarifies soberly.
“Oh,” I match my tone to hers.
The girl nods sagely. “It not ready yet.”
“I see.”
She shrugs out of her coat and wriggles a bit as she lets me help her remove her snow boots. She pauses mid-wriggle. One socked foot liberated.
“Will mommy have to blow?”
“Blow?”
“Yeah,” the almost-four-year-old cocks her head with bewilderment at my lack of immediate understanding. “When the baby come out.”
I look up, slightly flustered. Someone did a tripe-knot on that other boot. Fort Knox.
She stares at me.
It is one of those times when I have a feeling that my hypothesis about her question is quite different than what she is actually asking about.
“What do you think?” I default to my when-in-doubt-return-the-question-to-the-kid.
She nods vigorously. “Yeah. Because when the baby finish cooking it going to be too hot.”
For The Daily Post
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