By The Books

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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

 

A Rare Root

 

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

 

 

 

To Sea

Ocean Vistas AdiRosenZvi

(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

 

In Her Element

cameleon AmitiaAsif

(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

 

Beguiled

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(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