By Design

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Photo by Aditya Wardhana on Unsplash

 

Perhaps it is, really,

By design

Where we are born

And how we live

And how and when and why

We die.

 

Perhaps it is

By fate,

That we can love

And we can laugh

And dream

And struggle to let go

Of hate.

 

Perhaps we’re each

A stitch

In the tapestry

Of an overarching

Plan,

(That we do

Or do not

Understand).

 

Yet still the truth

Remains,

That our strength is

Bound to fail at

The weakest

Thread.

And that we each have a

Part in

Whether we

Mend

Or shred

The possibilities

Ahead.

 

 

 

For RDP Sunday: Design

And just for fun, also for Terri’s Sunday Stills: Yellow

 

Ice Cream Tim

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Photo: Brendan Church on Unsplash

 

Tim had a serious thing

For

Ice cream.

No matter the flavor

It was something

He’d favor.

His mama thought it

Extreme

To hold a lone food

Supreme,

So she came up with

A scheme

That worked wonders on

Tim:

Every new food she’d

Mix right into the

Ice cream.

So she fixed it with okra

And kale

And some beans,

And added an olive

And handfuls of

Greens,

And for his dessert

Even mashed in

Sardines.

And the boy ate the lot

Smiling full to the

Brim.

It was not until college

He caught on to the

Theme.

 

 

 

For RDP Sunday: Ice Cream

 

 

Ruby Rudder

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Photo: Cosmin Serban on Unsplash

 

The boat was old and holey, but that did not matter. They never intended for it to be sea-worthy. Haruto didn’t like to get his feet wet, and Miyu had seen enough leave for the waves who did not return. Neither one of them had a hankering for sea-sickness or for gutting fish or for seaweed tangling the rudder and weighing down the nets.

They had a different goal instead.

The neighbors raised collective eyebrows when the couple hauled the vessel, hull protruding in the air, baring barnacles and showcasing slime.

Haruto and Miyu just nodded, plopped the boat against the workshop’s wall, and disappeared into it without a word of explanation.

They didn’t owe it to anyone and they didn’t know how well the end result would be. Better to keep mum until they saw for themselves how well the idea translated from a dream to action. And the neighbors’ bafflement was fun.

For days they sawed and sparked and banged and nailed. One morning the boat got swallowed by the workshop with only a small bit of the aft sticking out. The next day it was the other end. The smell of primer and varnish and paint permeated the air.

The neighbors mused and wondered. A few doors down the street, Mrs. Adachi placed bets with Mr. Chinen.

Holes were dug in the backyard. A mixture was poured. Poles wedged in.

Mrs. Adachi’s bet went up. Mr. Chinen raised his.

Then one early morning there was a new commotion. Ropes and pulleys, a few curses, far too many bangs.

The neighbors came out. Offered a hand.

By the time breakfast was ready, the boat was securely perched like an awning over a diamond of poles. A hammock strung below, shaded but for a dapple of golden strips of sun. The rudder, painted ruby, pointed to the stars.

And for the next year, Mrs. Adachi was going to have the benefit of Mr. Chinen washing her car. …

 

 

 

For RDP Tuesday: Ruby

 

 

 

Explained

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Photo: Izabelle Acheson on Unsplash

 

She will not elucidate.

She won’t expound.

She won’t make plain.

There is, in her view, absolutely

Nothing she needs to

Explain.

 

There is the plate.

There are the cookies.

There was her mouth to entertain.

So, what does any of that

Have to do with dinner

Or with waiting for dessert

Again?

 

 

For RDP Tuesday: Explain

 

 

 

To Know Good

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Photo: Valario Davis on Unsplash

 

 

“So how do you,” he asked,

“Know good

From bad?”

 

“By the heart,” she replied.

“By the actions that

Build

And prop up,

And the words that

Support

And patch the

Cracked places

Inside broken parts.”

 

“And how,” he pressed,

“Do you know what

Just needs

Giving up?”

 

“By the soul,”

She patted the warm place

On her lap.

“For breath

Matters,

And hope

Matters,

And kindness

Is superior to any

Pass-by-night

Emperors

Full of promises

Of might,

Touted

For our good

But seeped in

Falsehood meant

To bring on

Plight.”

 

He shuddered

And she stroked his wet cheek

And held a cool

Palm to his brow.

“Now sleep,

And let spirits

Of light,

Hold back the bad

And

Fill your cup

With good

Till the world grows

Up.”

 

 

 

For RDP Sunday: For Our Good

 

 

 

The Reporter

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Photo: Sven Brandsma on Unsplash

 

He reports first thing in the morning.

He reports again every night.

There’s little that could dissuade him

From being absolutely forthright.

 

He records every scene with a flourish.

His voice reflects every sight,

As with journalist’s flair

He spells data in ample delight.

 

He would not be distracted from telling,

The minutia has got to be tight.

After all, he is in potty training

And to him no discharging is trite.

 

 

 

For RDP Sunday: Journalist

 

 

More To Overcome

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Photo: Jon Tyson on Unsplash

 

As soon as he arrived, she would be able to make her exit.

Take time for herself. Have a moment of calm.

She was oh-so-tired. She urged him on.

“On my way,” he said. “A few more minutes and I’ll come.”

She waited.

The minutes then the hours ticked their slow molasses of seconds. Time puddled, sticky, in her mind.

Around her the demands of life continued and her body obeyed. Her hands found zippers and did and undid buttons and washed dishes and stirred pots and hung wet linens and kneaded dough and bandaged a skinned knee and broke up fights and interrupted arguments. Her mouth managed to answer questions she did not remember being asked.

At some point her eyes no longer rose to check the clock. The sinking feeling curled up and took residence inside her gut.

She fed. She bathed. She put to bed.

She rocked. She soothed. Not knowing what she said.

As dark deepened and the night grew long, she knew.

He would not arrive.

There will be only more to overcome.

 

 

 

For RDP Sunday: Overcome

 

 

 

Frazzle Dazzle

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Photo: Smadar Epshtein

 

She refused to stop her fretting.

He could not get her

To relax.

She was adamant the world

Was ending,

That they were about to breathe

Their last.

Nothing he did could

Distract her.

Not the honey.

Not the charm.

She was frazzled,

And he should have known

To not try

Bedazzling

To disarm.

 

 

 

For RDP Sunday: Frazzled

 

 

 

No Quarter

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Photo: jurien huggins on Unsplash

 

She would give him no quarter.

Heed no pleas or demands.

He will have to obey.

It was how it was done.

No experience? No matter.

He will not fall

Behind!

First the tasks,

Then the chores

And more lessons to mind.

Math and science

Books and rhymes.

This was school,

Not play time!

 

 

For RDP Monday: Quarter

 

What Is Allowed

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Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

They didn’t know what they could do. What’s left of what they had.

So they rode the day in minute steps, a hand in tender hand.

They sought the light as morning came.

They danced into the night.

Because they knew no ban could

Fully

Take away

What is allowed.

 

 

For RDP Tuesday: Ban