White puffed blue
To the wide horizon.
For the Sunday Stills Challenge: Blue
She could be
When she strolls
The fine edge
Of the sea.
“It’s your sign,” she said.
“I don’t care,” he muttered.
“Yep, in your sign, too.”
He scowled and she laughed and he knew that anything he’d do or refuse to, would become her proof of the zodiac dictating his life, actions, tastes, worldview.
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!”
Most had left already. Evacuation was taken seriously after the previous storm had wiped out a dozen residents and many homes. Sam stayed. Life couldn’t get much grayer with Meg having drowned. He’d survive or join her. Either way was okay.
She spaced the candles as her grandmother had instructed. Not equally, but with one candle lording over a bigger chunk. “You’ll remember me by it,” Gran had said, “and by the sour faces of the ladies when they see you’d saved me some cake to go.”
Note: On the eve of Holocaust Remembrance Day, when we mourn so many lost to deliberate ugliness that nurtured systemic cruelty and harm … and when some try to deepen horrors by claiming the suffering hadn’t even happened … May we find a path out of hate and violence, and away from whatever catchy slogans used to justify a pseudo-superiority. For in reality, we are all one, and the terror of racism leaves none of us unharmed.
You relinquish all
For without it
Or go astray
There will not be another night so drenched in sorrow, bereft of even the wish for the downpour to turn hope. Yet they held to the moment right before the speeding motorbike intersected their car … and bled their child to no more.
Note: dedicated to those who know this loss, and to the hope that fewer will ever do.
original fiction, rhyme and photography
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