(Photo: Frank Eiffert on Unsplash)
Clear as daylight.
A cradle rocking
On a treetop.
No baby.
Thank God.
Or was there?
Was the movement the wind,
Or a small living thing?
She felt her heart flutter in
A memory
Of falling.
Heard a rustle and shuddered.
Ran for the
Ladder.
Climbed.
Swallows nesting
In the cradle.
Wide open mouths.
A child’s toy
Flown off a balcony.
Made home.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of Treetop in 63 words
(Photo: Jordan Ladikos on Unsplash)
I am NOT,
She insisted,
Capricious
Or blind.
I am bold.
I am loud.
I am the life of
The crowd.
I speak up.
I won’t hush.
My decisions
May clash.
My opinions indeed
Tend to
Unwind,
And it’s true that
I’m good at
Changing
My mind.
But I am not,
(At this moment)
Arbitrarily
Inclined.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: capricious in 55 words
Photo: MoneyforCoffee on Pixabay
Now that it was all hers, she wanted none of it.
She didn’t give an iota for questions or neighbors’ looks.
Out went the furniture. The clothing. The towels.
The reminders of swindlers and rooks.
She got rid of the bedding, the shelving,
The whole kit and caboodle in numerous crannies and nooks.
There was naught in the house for her
But memories of pain and emotional hooks.
She cleaned out the lot
And left only the books.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Caboodle in 78 words
It took her sixty years, but she finally did manage to maneuver the tangled maze of history and silence.
“Why do they make it so difficult?” she had demanded one day, flooded with frustrations.
“Shame, I suppose,” the woman at the records office had shrugged.
And a shame it was.
One that too many women carried, and too many cultures reinforced.
Sealed hopes.
But shame could not, in the end, keep her story from being told.
She watched the ancient lady in the market. Half-bent. Wholly recognizable.
Her birth mother.
A rare root unfurled inside her heart. Sprouted. Took hold.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Brenda Cox
(Photo: Adi Rosen-Zvi)
They headed out
To sea,
Amid the rocky islands
Peppering the vista
As far as the eye
Could see.
And their hearts rejoiced
In the beauty
Of their spree.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Challenge: Vista in 29 words
(Photo: Amitai Asif)
She watched
The proceedings
Without anyone
Taking notice.
It was almost
Magic,
Perched as she was
In plain sight
Yet somehow
Not.
It suited her
To be a
Chameleon.
There but not
Quite there.
For she was most
In her element
When she was fully
Blended in.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Element in 47 words
(Photo: Rhett Wesley on Unsplash)
When she returned home
They thought
She had grown into what they had always
Hoped she’d be.
Instead she was
A mistress of
Illusion.
A mouth that spoke,
A smile that held
A hidden mock,
Bewitching their longing
Into the
Nightmare
She had planned
For them to feel
But not
See.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Beguile in 51 words
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