One Word: crime
They said it was a crime
a crying shame
a shameful thing
to even speak of it
think of it
nevermind say it out loud
for crying out
but I think it less
for bringing to the light
of day
of daylights scared out of
the bejeesus
well evil likes dark
don’t ya know
knowledge of good
and evil
shut the door
keep it out
it will out
it always does
those chickens just love
to roost
One Word times three: Cosmic, Reveal, and Sorry
Not following any rules here
It was night time. The hardest time to get a ride and she was hitching alone. People talked about it being dangerous but she had never met anything but nice folks. How else were you supposed to get around when you didn’t own a car? She didn’t want to ask someone to take her places. She might not have a car but she worked and she walked and lived her life the way she wanted. It was kind of lonely not having anyone to answer to, but freeing too.
~~~**~~~
Out here in the dark walking for miles with no noise, just tingling cold starlight, there was nothing but time to think. A dialogue between myself and well, myself. Time to roam the halls of my thoughts, wondering and wandering. That’s probably why I don’t mind this walking. So much to think about, to know. Why are people the way they are? Why am I the way I am?
Being alone was easier. No awkwardness. No one asking me where I have wandered off to. Sometimes this other life, this internal journey, is a flight, no wings needed. Other times, it haunts me and weighs me down, chained from somewhere deep in my chest, all the way to the center of a layer of rock below the surface of the earth. Is it possible to live with my head in the clouds but keep my feet planted on the ground? Mama said I was a dreamer. It wasn’t a compliment, but I wonder why? I think the world needs more dreamers. So far my feet aren’t impressed with the ground.
Mama doesn’t know everything about me. It’s my heavy, weighty secret that she doesn’t know. The truth about what’s in my soul. Mama always does the right thing. I spend most of my time trying to figure out what the right thing is. How does she always know? I’m sorry mama. Did I miss something in the great cosmic factory where I was built? Something that is supposed to be hardwired in, left out as I passed by on the assembly line? How did I get past inspector 38? No tag to cut off under penalty of law?
Headlights shining through the blowing snow from behind me. Maybe my walking is through for the night, The car slows and pulls over just ahead. The dome light reveals a guy and his girlfriend, probably on their way home from a date. I climb in the back seat and she turns to ask me where I’m heading. Just a few miles ahead I say. Right by the Sunoco station would be fine. The heater is blowing warm air that makes my fingers and toes hurt. The radio is playing a Stones song. The guy asks me what I’m doing way out here. Just going home I tell him. Just going home. “You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need.”
Two One Words in One : mist and reveal
This is what happens when I try to go by the OneWord one minute timer:
She walked silently, feet bare on slippery moss. Barely breathing but urgency moving her forward before the mist could clear and reveal her hiding place. If she could just make it to..
Yesterday I was honored to participate in a fund raising walk for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. It was a beautiful day and there was a great turn out. There was moment at the beginning when they had live music and speakers and the chairwoman of the family teams spoke. At her side were several children from her team, one of which was her daughter who had been diagnosed with diabetes two years ago – at the age of three. I had one of those moments where you stop noticing the sound around you and all I was aware of was this precious girl who was grinning and mugging for the jumbotron. I was remembering my children at the age of three and trying to imagine what it would be like to try to explain what was happening to a toddler. If you go to youtube and put jdrf in the search box you will find multiple videos of kiddos and their stories. If you do go there be prepared to have your heart broken and changed. My story below is made up, and I have no statistics for you, but I know that diabetes is on the rise in the country. Every year it seems there are more and more students at school for whom the sticks, dietary restrictions, and insulin administration are a part of their daily routine. I have witnessed the other end of a life lived under the control of this disease. When Dale was on dialysis and I would sit with him sometimes at the center, and most of the patients undergoing treatment were diabetics. Some were obviously sick. some teased and joked and their spirits overflowed to those around them. Kidney failure, blindness, amputated feet, coronary problems, all related to the disease – all part of their experience. I got to know other spouses and caregivers. We shared worries, concerns, ideas for feeding our spouses.
Pray for a cure. Pray for the kids. Pray for their families.
*~*~*~*
He stared up into the night sky. If he could only see far enough, the entire cosmos, spread out beyond his imagination, which was formidable, maybe the answers would become clear. For now, all he could do was close his eyes to the tiny lights and shut out all the pain, as if he could or would. His little girl, one minute laughing and full of promise, infinite as those stars, now threatened and having to endure daily pain.
What would her future be? Would she have a future? Was it his fault? Why would God do this to her. He would gladly take it on if it meant she could go back to the life she had just yesterday. His wife was better at this than he was. She cried, but she did it alone in the shower, where Emma wouldn’t see. When she was with Emma, she held her sorrow in and worked every minute to make sure that we were checking her blood glucose levels, that we had the carbs counted and food servings figured out to make adjusting easy. Easy. That was a word that didn’t figure in their vocabulary anymore. Every activity that they did, any trip away from the house, meant being prepared for any eventuality that might present itself.
They had gone to a birthday party that day. Emma had her crackers, and they went to the car for her stick and to do her insulin injection. Later the kids were playing Farmer In The Dell and as the song came to a close, he thought. “The cheese stands alone.” Even in this group of happy children, maybe more so, His Emma was like the cheese. She looked like every other child on the outside. She ran and played and laughed. But under it all, on the inside, she WAS the cheese. She stood alone.
Emma cried at the sticks. Her little eyes would tear up and she would whimper. “No sticks daddy, no sticks!” but she held still and let them stick her anyway as though some part of her was resigned to them hurting her. That look of resignation hurt him more than any screaming she could have done. He drew in a breath and thought sternly “Enough! Suck it up! If she can do it, you can do it. ” He pushed himself off the lawn chair as his wife came out the back door. She too stared at the night sky. Her arm went around him and she laid her head on his shoulder. “Emma is asleep.” she said.
He looked down at her. “Can we do this?” he asked.
She looked up at him and he could read the answer in her eyes. There was no choice. She was our Emma. Insulin is not a cure, but it keeps her alive. We would do whatever it takes until a cure is found.
Amen
Three Word Wednesday a bit late: Eclipse, Velocity, Languish
Sweat ran down her neck and pooled in the small of her back. Her shirt stuck to the skin between her shoulder blades, the red gingham cotton faded nearly to pink. Frayed denim cutoffs worn thin and blonde hair pulled up on her head in a tortoise shell clip.
She had listened to every word he said and now she was languishing in this “room with a view” . It was a view alright. Any light from the sun, along with any breeze that might have brought a little relief was eclipsed by the sooty brick building next door that loomed over her like a giant gargoyle, hunched over ready to gobble down everything in sight.
She sat in a ratty chair she had pulled up close to the window, leg thrown over the rickety arm. The fan was making more noise than air movement, hoping for any fresh air that might wind it’s way down between the buildings. All she got was the smell of rotting garbage and cabbage cooking which when you think about it, was pretty much the same thing. In the distance a train screamed it’s velocity as it passed right on through, no reason to stop in this dump of a town.
She could hear a radio playing on another floor and the couple next door had been screaming at each other for hours. She was jealous. She would be glad to have someone to scream at, cook for, give her a reason to stay here. He had promised more and she had gulped it all in, stolen money out of her daddy’s wallet and tossed what she could into a backpack. They were on their way . He had an old car and that was all but it didn’t matter, their escape blurred all thoughts of anything but how good it would be. They could live on love.
She sighed, turned off the fan and slipped on her tennis shoes. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and looked around at the peeling, stained wallpaper, the crooked yellow lamp shade, and the sink full of dirty plastic bowls. One tear ran down her face as she closed the door behind her. She took the stairs two at a time, walked down the block to the highway and stuck out her thumb. She was going home.
One Word: Comma
Comma comma
karma
chameleon
changing colors
fading like the sunset
waiting
the pause before the end
the but
the breath drawn in
the hitch
the I don’t know
but if I did
exclaimed or stated
would you
could you
hear me out
cut me slack
hang in
hang out
hang on
or hang up
picture courtesy of
One Word: Mercury
The mercury had climbed to nearly 100 today and she wondered why they called it a dry heat. Heat was heat. She had showered and stepped out into the motel room with the water color print of mountains hanging on the wall and the paisley spread on the bed.   She pulled on her little black dress and fastened her gold earrings. Checked the mirror and touched up her lipstick. She turned back to the bed, smiling.
He was cute, with his farmer’s tan and sunbleached hair. There was something not quite right about that grin, too much teeth and just a bit of mean. She hated lies and he told two. He said he had money. She looked in his billfold while he was in the bathroom. There was maybe two hundred dollars in there. She had closed it and set it back on the nightstand. He told her he was single. While she was checking out the money situation she spied the picture of a skinny little dark haired girl with a couple of kids peeking around her and staring up at him with sad eyes as he smiled his coyote smile for the camera.
Mama always said once is an accident, twice is a sin.
She couldn’t let it go. He had to atone. She laid the Gideon’s Bible next to him, open to Exodus 20. She emptied the money out of the billfold, and then thought about it and put a hundred back. The little girl sitting at home waiting for it would need it. She grabbed her purse and turned on her iPod, smiling as Tom Petty sang:
“Oh my my, oh hell yes
Honey put on that party dress
Buy me a drink, sing me a song,
Take me as I come cause I cant stay long”
She turned back for one last look and blew him a kiss. He just lay there with the letter opener sticking out of his eye. It wasn’t too late to stop at the bar for one last drink before she splurged on a taxi and she was too wired for sleep.
One Word prompt: paintbrush
paint it blue
paint it anything
but what it is
we see in colors of hurt
or love
pigment of heart or mind
or memory
memory to be
sunsets laying down peace
in warm hues strong blends
to soft to grey to gone
then dawn
the pieces of clouds with the rainy morn
white the fog
the golden afternoon
the green youth
citrus ripe and ready the canvas
credentials leaving blanks
to fill in later
sketched, blocked
with lines so clean
plenty of time for muddy
later as the blend
the mix, the shades unsure
we have all the colors in the box
don’t worry about the lines
we all see what we want
what we carry
what we lost
painted over
hung on the wall
framed in dark
for some to see
my colors
can you see them
One Word prompt: penny and fiction in 58 times three
A new love, bright as a new penny, not touched or spent like it would become later. Who thinks about later at the start when it is all light and hope. Later doesn’t get attention until it’s too late to do anything about it. Hindsight is useless. It develops when we’re too far down the path to change.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Penny for your thoughts?” He said. But he didn’t really mean it. He wanted at least ten dollars worth so he could use it against her, punish her for some transgression she didn’t even understand and didn’t commit. It was always the same. He would get her to open the wound and then he would twist the knife.
~~~~~~~~~~
It felt good, walking in the sun.  She threw a penny into the pool, making a wish.   A kid bumped her as he ran by with his mother chasing after him. “I’m sorry” she blurted as she ran past, arm outstretched towards him. “It’s okay.” I said, smiling at my reflection in the pool, and it would be.
~~~~~~~~~~
One Word prompt: paperback
All she wanted was a few moments of peace and a cup of coffee. Not that fancy, flavored, skinny mocha latte mochachino crap – just coffee. She found a seat over in the corner and tiredly pulled her paperback out of her bag. She opened it and leaned her head on one hand so that her face was partially hidden by the book. She peeked over the cover at the room.
There were a couple of girls at the next table rattling on about the VMA awards and could you believe they were wearing the same dress? “Wasn’t he a HAWT-E? OMG BFF” until she saw lips moving but heard chipmunk chatter.
A couple sat at a table in the middle and while HE went on and on about some political position that she just couldn’t possibly understand or of course she would agree with him. Unfortunately visionary that he was, he totally missed his girlfriend flipping him off under the table or the bored yawn as she turned and glanced at me. She rolled her eyes.
The kid behind the counter was smiling too big and cheerful as she took orders and money and steamed milk, poured flavor and mashed lids on cardboard yuppie cups, now insulated to stave off litigation from crybaby patrons looking to get rich.
She dropped her eyes back to the book. The picture on the cover was of some trashy looking girl with tattoos and cleavage, but the story wasn’t half bad. Werewolves and shapeshifters, fantasy escape from irritating executives and brainless girls in four inch heels that robbed the blood from their heads.
She finished the coffee and stuffed the book back in her bag. She dropped her cup and napkin in the trash can and thanked a kid with way too many piercings as he held the door for her and she walked to the bus stop.
She grabbed the rail as the door whooshed open and pulled herself up the steps, dropping her tokens in the container. She found a window seat near the back and caught her reflection in the window as she plopped down on the cracked vinyl. There were new lines around her eyes and more gray in her hair every day. Some birthday.
One Word prompts yesterday and today: oak and shower
Sunday Scribbling prompt: hunger
Nissa woke to rain dripping off the leaves of the ivy that had grown lovingly around the giant old oak. She had curled up in the cradle made by roots that had wandered out and down through the cool dirt. Leaves that had fallen over years and velvety moss had made this a favorite summer spot to daydream. Daydream and watch the old man work his garden. She had spent more and more time here lately. Her mum had changed and while she was never mean, she was just sort of not there. Nissa couldn’t really put a name on it, she frightened her. She used to sing while she worked and she would hug Nissa and chase her around the yard laughing, more like a sister than a mother.
These days she just went through the motions. The house was clean and supper was cooked, but she never smiled or sang and when she wasn’t working she would sit at the table and stare at the fire as though she were waiting for something. She never spoke unless you asked her a question. Nissa shivered though the shower that had blown up wasn’t cold. She sat up and scooted up closer to the trunk where she could watch the rain but stay dry . The smell of the rain on the dirt, honeysuckle from somewhere nearby, and the wet herbs in the garden filled her nostrils and she closed her eyes and breathed it in. She felt much better out here, away from the house and her mother and whatever it was that seemed to be hanging over their heads like a dark and heavy cloud.
She heard a door shut and opened her eyes. The old man was sitting on the porch with a bowl and hunk of bread. Her mouth started to water and she realized that it had been hours since breakfast. “Are you hungry girl?” said the old man. “There is plenty if you will come sit.”
She hesitated. She always felt safe and peaceful here and her instincts had never brought her harm. She liked coming here and if he told her to stay away she would have nowhere else to go. She weighed all that against her empty belly and stood up and walked to his porch. “You are Nissa.” He said. She jerked her head up in surprise. He had not only known she was there but he knew her name as well! “I am Simon.” he said and he held out a bowl of stew to her. She took the bowl, thanking him and he gestured to a seat and another piece of bread. She sat down and they ate in silence. She mopped up the rest of the liquid in her bowl with the last of her bread and sighed in contentment.. Simon handed her his bowl and asked her to set them in the washpan in the house.
She stepped in the room and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust and then they widened in curiosity? Delight? She didn’t know where to look first! There were drawings and stuffed birds, carvings and odd stones of all shapes and colors. She remembered she was holding the bowls and carefully put them in the tub of water. She backed towards the door, wishing to explore but not wanting to be rude. “Who was this Simon?” She wondered.
When she stepped outside, Simon had his eyes closed and his head leaned up against the wall, The rain had stopped and the sun showed wrinkled skin, translucent and almost glowing from within in the sunlight. His white hair was long but braided and he smelled like Rosemary. She sat down in the sun near him and he began to tell her about the plants in his garden. She had been watching him tend them, trimming some that got too adventuresome and pulling weeds from around others that seemed to prefer their space. He often hummed and sometimes spoke quietly as he cared for them.
“There is a heartbeat to the earth and if you listen carefully, you will hear it beating in a garden. The seasons have a rhythm all their own and the earth will speak to you. Whatever you give, you get back so much more.” He told of plants that were for healing, plants that made food taste better, and some that were for love and beauty.
“I like the ones you can eat, the best.” Nissa told him. Simon smiled and said that the earth would feed more than just your belly.  “That may be so,” Nissa said, “but it’s hard to think of anything else if you are hungry.” She looked away from him as she said it.
“Then you may come to this garden anytime you wish.” Simon said.
“Will you teach me how things grow?” she asked..
“Yes child, but it is work and you have to be willing.” He smiled seeing more than she knew. Simon saw that she was strong and brave and would not be able to resist a challenge. He had dreamed of a child for the last few nights, and of something dark that she was running from. He couldn’t see clearly yet, just what it was. He only knew that he must help her and that he had to go slow so that whatever it was would not awaken before he had taught her enough to help him defeat it.
“I can do anything you ask me to do.” she said proudly and maybe a bit defensively. She had her chin stuck out as though she was daring him to disagree. Simon just smiled and said “Then I shall see you tomorrow.” Though she didn’t want to, she squared her shoulders and headed towards her home. She didn’t want him to know how scared she was of going back to her mother and she was afraid that he would find out that something was wrong there and send her away. She would show him that she could help. She would make herself indispensable and then he would never send her away and she would have a place to go, to be, to grow. She even whistled a bit on the way home. The sound died on her lips as she reached the house. She quietly slipped around back and through the window into her room so that she wouldn’t have to see the vacant stare in her mother’s eyes. She quietly wrapped herself in her quilt and as the sky grew dark, she huddled in the corner of her bed and finally fell into a troubled sleep.
Sunday Scribbling #180, Carry On Tuesday #17, Three Word Wednesday, One Word: Corner
Piled them up and this is what I sifted out, with a little inspiration from posts by Quin and Paschal.
Disarmed by
the sudden guilt
anger dissolved
this time
just now, this minute
don’t speak
but later
no grace, no forgive, give
me mayhem mr. sandman
ain’t no sleeping tonight
voices engage
the shots fire over heads and
sometimes
hit the mark
hit the heart
play a tattoo
beating on, beating up
beaten down
the poets rhymed it
the storytellers made it
their own
we all live it
danger, falling bricks, rocks
stones and sticks
and names can hurt, can paint
themselves on our skin
til only a faded shadow scar
barely seen
but heard round the corner
round the life
Sunday Scribbling prompt: Tattoo
that door slammed shut years ago
but if I could, should
would I
wings, angel
amethyst butterfly
both. one becoming if it listens
to the other
nothing big that needs
to be grown into.
not to be seen
secretly known
a reminder
the butterfly is always changing
beauty fragile
fleeting powder jewels
of shimmer color
dance in the air
no touching
damaged, thinned
bruised but still alive
trading one set of wings for another
if it glistens, listens
to the right shoulder
my spirit would
One Word: Logical pared down to fiction in 58
The logical thing would be to run. The logical thing was to not come here in the first place. The logical thing was to not answer her phone in the middle of the meeting. The logical thing was knowing there was no way Bryan would have asked her to meet him out here. Logic wasn’t worth spit now.
not happy with this but I’m writing through a little dry patch. Thank goodness the weekend is coming!
One Word: Knot
tied in knots
tangled and woven
never gonna smooth that out but
maybe go past it, further
change colors, scenery
faces, places
a blur and then slow down
for clarity
braid it, more strands
are stronger
will hold
stretched out but not
broken
shaken out
like a picnic tablecloth
checkered and wine-stained
fold it, wash it
you take one end
I, the other
meet in the middle
or somewhere inbetween
isn’t that the way,
the how, the why?
pieced together
a quilt can warm, pieces
telling the story, the picture
the unfinished threads
tucked under for now
tied in loose knots
One Word Catching up from yesterday: Anxiety
Yellow chairs and a ceiling fan. A 10×14 slab covered with a metal roof, looking out over the back yard, No anxiety here, just peace. Perfect place for a morning cup of coffee, scented by the cinnamon flavor. A slight breeze, neighbor’s dog barks, sounds of traffic off in the background. The world is waking up and dawn is opening one eye, not quite awake. . An intermission before the play begins again.
One Word :Wanted
One Word is a simple webpage that displays a single word, different daily. Click go and type in the box for a minute. Done.
Wanted? Or needed? Was there a difference? Want comes from sight. Want that pretty bright thing.
Need comes from heart and body, both requiring sustenance.
She wanted to be more. She needed to be less. The two were always at war.
Sunday Scribbling: key, One Word: collar
He must have drunk too much but damned if he could remember. He could taste the last drop of beer he drained from the glass, feel the thud as he set the empty down on the bar, after that – nothing. Til now. Now there was a blue screamer of a headache and his neck is stiff like maybe he had slept wrong.
Sitting up seemed like the thing to do but as he pushed himself into a sitting position, he saw black spots and for a moment worried he would pass out. A voice from somewhere behind him asked “Where is the key?” He answers “Who are you?” and a sudden buzz of pain surrounded his neck and he clawed at some kind of metal band, collar, torture device! The pain stopped after what seemed like hours and he fell back down, weeping. The voice again asked “Where is the key?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about!” He cries, and the pain begins again. He writhes and claws but he can’t loosen it and he thinks frantically, what can he tell them, what do they want, who the hell are they??
He waited in terror for the voice again, knowing he wouldn’t have an answer and anticipating what that would mean. He carefully felt the metal band around his neck, trying to see how it was fastened, a mantra in his head alternating between “please don’t let it start again” and ” how do I get this thing off”.
It started with a call in the middle of the night when a friend from high school claimed he was in town and wanted to meet up. He hadn’t heard from Jack in years but he was a good enough dude in school so when Jack suggested a sports bar not far from where he worked, he readily agreed to meet him. Jack never showed.
After a few moments the lights went out and the dark made the fear and pain all the sharper. He was sure the voice would be back and if they were trying to break him, they would get their wish.
The lights came back on and the voice returned. “Where is the key, Jack?” Oh man, he had been set up. Who was Jack now and what kind of key did he have? “I’m not Jack!” he said and the buzz began. By the time it stopped he was nearly unconscious. “I’m not Jack.” he moaned. “I have no idea who you are or what key you are talking about. I wish I did, I would tell you, give it to you, whatever you want!”
“Where is the key?”