Her Vision

 

 

She tried. But still she could not see.

Not the way she should have. Not the way others expected her to. Not how they could. All crisp lines and sharp edges.

There was no focus to her sight. No defined hues.

No boundaries.

No wonder others thought she had no need for any.

She used to think it was her fault. Her eyes a reflection of failure.

She’d seen a doctor since. In secret, but at least this one was hers to hold in confidence.

Her optic nerve had never fully formed.

But her heart, she now knew, saw perfectly.

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

She Will Not Become

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(Photo: Roberto Martinez on Unsplash)

 

She will not become a mannequin.

Her mother may have images of what a daughter looks like.

Her father may hold his of what she must not, at any cost, resemble.

Her teachers may believe she found bad friends.

Her brothers had supplied them.

 

To all she says –

In mind if not in volume –

That she will not become,

A mannequin.

 

She will find her own way.

Her look.

Her path.

Her mirrors.

 

Enough already lost,

As childhood magic

Left,

And stripped

Her life austerer.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Mannequin in 85 words

 

Compliance

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(Photo: Isaac Holmgren on Unsplash)

 

When all was said and done,

There was no question

Of whether or when

Or why,

She would be expected

To abide by all

The rules they had

Intended to

Apply.

The law was set.

The outcome clear.

She was to follow

And adhere.

 

 

For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: abide

 

Aftereffect

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Photo: Arnaud Jaegers on Unsplash

 

It does not do to elect

Only those who self-select.

Because it is best to object

To any who hold no respect

For others’ ability to reflect

On the facts in each subject.

For if we fail now to protect

The need of everyone to connect

And the necessity to detect

Those who humanity eject,

We might injustice reinfect

And cement moral defect

As the greedy now expect

Blind loyalty by genuflect.

 

 

 

For Linda Hill’s SoCS writing prompt: “ect”

 

 

In His Arrogance

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Photo: Phil Botha on Unsplash

 

In his arrogance he sees

Himself reflected

In everything.

All positive is commandeered as his

Achievement,

Any negative is protested as

Insult to

Him,

To the supposedly undisputed

Glory

Of his being.

 

In his hubris he

Expects only effusive

Praise.

He demands fealty in all

Things.

Admiration to any idea he

Hijacks

To claim it was never invented

Prior to the mighty of

Him.

 

In his presumption he feeds on

Adoration

And punishes

All critic

As wounding the belief in

Him.

 

In his arrogance

He sees only,

Appreciates only,

Allows only what feeds

Him.

 

 

Disclaimer: No offense meant to the (truly magnificent) bird …

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Hubris in 94 words

 

 

Their Dream

 

In his dreams he sees a mansion, flanked by rows of old-growth trees, fenced by sturdy brickwork, gated by imposing wrought iron spiked by gold.

In his dreams, he sees a driveway that spells out the expectation of his wealth. He envisions sprawling gardens, floors of endless rooms, and lavish halls, and a multi-car abode.

In his dreams he sees the pools, the tennis courts, the deck, the dock, the boat.

In her dreams she sees a cottage on the edge of forest, amidst the rolling meadows heading into dunes and shore.

In her dreams she sees the cozy rooms, the closeness of the furnishing, the softness of the rugs upon the cool slates of the floor.

And when he shares his dreams and scoffs at hers and tells her that she dreams “far too small,” she knows that their shared one won’t go where they’d thought it would, before.

 

 

For the Crimsons Creative Challenge

 

 

Taking Tea

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Photo: Amitai Asif

 

“Every pot can be

A teapot

But not all of them can make

Sufficiently

Good tea,”

He said, and fussed

And set the bag

To rest

On the edge

To breathe

For me.

“I’ll take coffee,”

Said the mother,

Contrary just because

She had the right

To be.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Teapot in 48 words

 

 

 

Glacial Undertones

Glacier AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

He will carve mountains

For them.

Slow but steady

In his pressure.

Relentless

In the calculated cold of his

Convictions,

That curl like tight fists

Under an unquestioning love.

He has carved himself

In the process,

Into valleys of sacrifice.

Carved them, too,

Into mirror images

To reflect the truths he holds.

He will carve mountains

For them,

Heavy-handed and doggedly

Protective.

Glacial with volcanic undertones.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Glacial in 66 words