Misspoke and Miss Placed

 Following are four Ernest & Marge episodes, each in 99 words. The first is a rewrite from  the March 14th Carrot Ranch flash fiction challenge. This version ends differently. It is followed by back to back responses for this week’s prompt from the ranch, “eminence”. Finally there is a 99 word, six sentence flash that includes the March 27th Six Sentence Story prompt, “place”. The scene that precipitated these four flashes was a six sentence story from March 12th. See Ernest & Marge  and friends all together HERE.

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“Jeez, Marge, you’re turning the trailer upside down these days.”

“It’s in need of a good spring cleaning, Ernest.”

“With a hammer and chisel?”

“Ending the ice age in your freezer.”

“I’ve been meaning to deal with that. Guess I move at glacial speed.”

“Ha, so funny.” With a geologist’s eye Marge placed the chisel and hammered out great chunks of hoary frozen food, while Ernest looked on. A sliver of ice landed right on Ernest’s chin, bruised from Marge’s welding mask.

“Em, Marge, you’ve been kind of manic lately.”

“Why would I be mad, Ernest?”

“Sorry. I misspoke.”

***

“What? Her Eminence drinking alone? Where’s Ernest?”

“Can’t I be somewhere where Ernest isn’t, Nard? Like you should talk. Where’s Kris?”

“Visiting his mother. I just couldn’t.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Lloyd tells me Ernest gave you a ring.”

“Yeah.”

“Thought you gals were supposed to be all giddy at a time like this.”

“Ernest’s giddy enough for the both of us. Driving me nuts.”

“Am I a peckerhead for being glad Kris is gone for a couple days?”

“Not if you’re looking forward to him coming back.”

“I am.”

“We’ll have to get used to being happy, huh, Nard?”

“Yep.”

***

“We’re not drunk, Marge, but it’s eminent.”

“Imminent.”

“You’re eminent drinkers,” quipped the bartender. “You two walking?”

“I’ll walk Her Eminence home, if I can sleep on her couch.”

“I don’t need you to walk me home, Nard.”

“Tough Marge, can walk in the dark by herself. Doesn’t need anyone. Big tough Marge runnin’ the shop, givin’ orders. Used to think you was gay, ya know that?”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Ha!”

Marge could have called Ernest, reliable Ernest. Instead she walked with her friend and talked drunkenly of old times and of times ahead.

***

“I’m back from my walk, and look who I found, my old peckerhead friend Nard, he’s kinda drunk so he’s gonna sleep on the couch.”

It was obvious to Ernest that Nard wasn’t the only one who was drunk, but he was glad to have Marge in a better mood than when she’d left.

“We’ve been talking. Me and Nard, not me and you, and we think if we’re going to be married, me and you, not me and Nard, that marriage… yeah- Nard’s gonna help build a man-cave.”

“I don’t want a man-cave.”

“It’ll be my place, Ernest.”

***

Flashpoint

Do you have a burning need to write? What lights your fire? Are you inflamed by writing prompts?

Recently I started an interview series here at my blog to show my appreciation for bloggers that offer writing prompts to those of us who might need that spark of inspiration. Thinking about prompts led me to thinking about the fire triangle.

The three elements of fire used to get taught in school; apparently it has been upgraded to the fire tetrahedron so that the inherent chemical chain reaction is represented along with oxygen, fuel, and heat. But I digress, probably because this is unprompted and there are no word count restraints.

Recall that the presence of these three elements sustains the reaction that is fire. Fuel is the combustible material, sufficient heat raises the material to its ignition temperature, and oxygen sustains the combustion. Fire.

 

We all have fuel to burn. Maybe neatly stacked, maybe lying about in a rough pile, maybe still to be foraged and gathered up, we all have raw material to fuel our writing. But what ignites that fuel and coaxes it into flame, into those excited molecules of the exothermic chain reaction? What makes us put pen to paper and write?

It doesn’t take much, does it? The fuel is there and the heat is there. A prompt is ample ignition. Just a one word spark is often enough to set off the reaction. The heat builds and the flames roar and pop all around as the writing community bursts into action with their responses. It doesn’t take much to coerce a glowing ember to leap to life, to feed ravenously on the combustible materials that have amassed. A prompt can be the flashpoint, encouraging comments the oxygen that keeps the combustion going, fanning the flames of a creative firestorm.

I am grateful for the warming campfires that light up this part of the blogosphere. I would be a smoldering coal, cooling to charcoal, were it not for the prompts that ignite my imagination and have me reaching for the woodpile of inspiration and ideas. In thanks, I’ll stoke the fire every first and third Friday here at ShiftnShake and invite you to come by and get to know some prompting bloggers better.

Freya Pickard and Marcia Meara have already graced my hearth, and next week Charli Mills will be by. I have included the schedule that I have set so far. I will be reaching out to more folks and if you would like to be interviewed for this series, feel free to contact me.

 

March 1^st -Freya from PureHaiku

 

March 15^th –Marcia from The Write Stuff

 

April 5^th – Charli from Carrot Ranch

 

April 19^th– Denise from GirlieOntheEdge

 

May 3^rd – Sammi from SammiScribbles

 

May 17^th – Anne Goodwin from annethology

 

June 7^th – Kat Myrman from Like Mercury Colliding

 

June 21^st–    ???

The Place Between

The Place Between

They know where you live, know that the rock is slowly but surely bearing down on that hard place where you have come to reside, that only place you’ve ever known.

You hear the contempt, the disdain and disbelief in their voices, “Just move, Man”; hear them mutter, “Some people can’t get out of their own way” but you can’t move, you’re feeling the pinch; the pinch has become a steady grind and an oppressive weight, as heavy as their contempt.

Though from the inside the opening to a trap cannot be seen, from there you hear their derisions for your scrabbling and scratching, but they will not help you away from the hard place where you have come to reside.

The rock now your only view, blocking out the light, its interminable rolling the noise that keeps you awake at night, squeezing any hope from your constricted dreams.

They are afraid; for if that rock, the one bearing down on you in your hard place, if that rock should shatter and fall apart, they are afraid of what you might do with the pieces as you pick them up.

For now you scratch your art into the face of that boulder, fingers bleeding and raw.

 

 

The Six Sentence Story prompt from Denise this week is “place”. This is the place the prompt took me to. Be sure to click over to GirlieOnTheEdge to add your Six Sentences to the mix, or just to read and comment. 

Letting

This Carrot Ranch flash fiction challenge response comes on the heels of my latest Six Sentence Story, with more on Robert who is back on the family farm after serving in Lincoln’s War. In rereading the prompt, I may have missed the mark, as there’s no bucket of water, though there’s scalding water behind the barn. This is where the prompt led.

March 21, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that features a bucket of water. What is the condition of the water and what is the bucket for? Drop deep into the well and draw from where the prompt leads! Respond by March 26.

***

Thomas looked up as Robert bolted past. From the barn their father, bare-armed, bloody to his elbows, also watched.

“Thomas!”

“Yes, Pa?”

“Thomas, I need an extra pair of hands. Bring those buckets and come around the back of the barn.”

“Yes Pa. Pa? I thought you didn’t want me helpin’ with that chore yet.”

“Looks like I need you now. You know it’s got to be done, right Thomas?”

“ I know. Them pigs was always meant to feed us.”

“That’s right Thomas. And Thomas? I don’t want you pesterin’ Robert no more for stories about the war.”

***

 

World Traveler

“Robert, tell me your stories, about marching south and fighting the rebels down there in Virginia, ‘cause it ain’t fair, I ain’t never been farther than Montpelier.”

“Well, Thomas, that’s as far as I ever want to go again; I reckon Montpelier’s got to be the finest, prettiest city in the world, but if you want a story, I’ll tell you about the time I marched with an army all the way to the city of Boston.”

“I thought Boston was of the Republic, what’d you go there for?

“It was before the war; I was about the age you are now when I helped drive an army of turkeys, thousands of them, to market in Boston, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget that trip.”

“I want to do that, I want to drive turkeys all the way to Boston!”

Robert, falling into one of his weary silences, wished that Thomas could have that experience, but sometimes he felt the world of 1865 was changing faster than a steam train, faster than messages racing along a telegraph wire, and that feeling worried him as much as any of the other worries he’d yet carried in his twenty-one years.

                             

 Remember Robert?  He might have been of an age to take part in one of the many great turkey drives that were common in Vermont in the first half of the 19th century.

The Six Sentence Story prompt from GirlieOntheEdge this week is “drive”. Get your ink to the link, or just head over there to read six sentence stories.   

 

Poetic Hum

Over at the poets’ pub, dVerse, Gina asks, “What is the poetic hum in your life? What hums in the background of your life that inspires you as you unconsciously listen while you work and live? Is the drone always there or do you have to cultivate the inspiration?” The prompt led me to a tanka, then on to haibun. Go to the pub for servings of Tuesday Poetics.

 

What are the colors of white noises, of slick syncopations, benign beatings? Some hum in sensible suits of spreadsheet tweed or accountant gray. Some background noise is the high-pitched whine of machinery, of moving parts dulled only by repetition and wear; some the slow rumble of the millstone grinding its grains, blind to its grist. Some pulse a slippery red, the color of Dr. Williams’ wheelbarrow that waited for him at the end of daily practice. Sylvia’s copper kettles drummed a spiraled blackness, marching to the fore, crescendo in the kitchen. The color of the hole in the roof changes with the weather; listen to the sun trickling in.

 

Plodding hushed by snow

falling through wintry slumber

dreams a whirr of wings

suddenly spring birds alight

colors awaken

songs stir.

Carving Out 99 Words at a Time

Carrot Ranch prompts… at first I have nothing. (Really? Chisel?) If I’m lucky Kid and Pal get something going and that’s fine, a Ranch Yarn will do. But I’m noticing things often come in threes, including responses to the prompt. Here’s another treble, or triple, or trio, whichever you prefer, in response to the Carrot Ranch March 14, 2019, prompt: “In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a chisel. Use chisel as a noun or a verb. Think about what might be chiseled, who is chiseling. Be the chisel. Go where the prompt leads!”

My first take was to utilize and incorporate the last nine Carrot Ranch prompts; the second is a follow up on Marlie’s homeschooling; and finally, Marge is feeling a little nervous since the last Six Sentence Story. It would appear there’s a couple of serials happening. I guess. Neither was planned and are not planned. They just appear in response to the prompts. Let me ask you this: Do you mind that three stories get posted together? Is it times three or times 1/3 ?   

The Renovation

Looking back, she saw clearly what had appeared such an enriching adventure, to leave everything behind and move into an old beach house with her new love.

‘It was worth you selling your house and property,’ he’d said. ‘We’ll fix up this bungalow together, our love nest.’

Everyday he called her his Valentine. Everywhere were signs they only interpreted as good. Wobbly weather hewn porch supports were colonnades. The damp, clammy sea mist was romantic.

Going for lumber, he took her bankcard. ‘Just for back up.’

Another night, sleepless and alone, the only sound mice chiseling in the walls.

###

Learning Curve

“What did you say Marlie?”

“Basswood. Google said it was a good carving wood, and then I learned we had it in our front yard, except we’d been calling it Linden, and I cut a piece of it to carve. Daddy taught me how to carve, Mommy. Mommy! You’re not even looking at my carving.”

She wasn’t, either; she was looking quizzically from Marlie’s bandaged hand to Marlie’s quiet father.

“Daddy taught me how to be real careful with the knife and chisel, but that was after I’d used the limbing saw. That’s when Daddy taught me about first-aid!”

###

Necessity

“Jeez, Marge, you’re turning the trailer upside down these days.”

“It’s needing a good spring cleaning, Ernest.”

“Now with a hammer and chisel?”

“Ending the ice age in your freezer.”

“That’s a brilliant solution, Marge.”

With a sculptor’s eye Marge placed the chisel and hammered out great chunks of hoary frozen food while Ernest looked on.

“We should name our kid Invention. Get it?”

 

Marge told Ilene about it on their walk.

“Ha! Good one. You, the mother of Invention.”

“Ilene! I don’t want to be a mother! Damn it. Things were so good.”

“Go talk with Ernest, Marge.”

###

Marcia Meara, How D’ya Do?

This week I am pleased to bring you Marcia Meara of  The Write Stuff. I came across Marcia’s site when I was only a very few months into writing in the blogosphere and Marcia generously offered to post poems from my books in her #ExcerptWeek. Marcia is a poster girl for kindness and generosity, and the caption reads “sharing is caring”.

How d’ya do, Marcia? Welcome! Marcia, what part of the world do you live in and what should the rest of the world know about your place?

I live in central Florida, just north of Orlando, and I’m actually a Florida native. Yep. (There’s me and some guy up in the panhandle, I think.) Let’s see. I suppose most folks know Florida is hot. And humid. We’ve already had temps in the high 80s and one day in the low 90s, and it’s still early March. This is a thing about Florida I really hate. Once it’s above 72 degrees outside, I tend to stay inside in the air conditioning.

Central Florida has some of the most interesting birds and wildlife in the United States. This is a thing about Florida I love! I’ve been a birder, canoeist, and nature lover all my life. If I can’t live in the mountains of North Carolina (my favorite place in the world), at least I can spend some time on the river watching fantastic birds and interesting wildlife. Even my backyard birdfeeder is endlessly entertaining.

Maybe your banner says it all, “Writers helping writers, with Marcia Meara and Friends”, but could you tell us about yourself and describe some of the goings-ons at your blog?

I’m a 75-year-old writer (though I didn’t write my first book until I was 69), married to Mark for 33 years. The kids are grown and gone with kids of their own, but we share our house with 4 big cats and 2 ancient dachshunds.

I’ve had three blogs over fifteen years or so, but the only one I’m actively using today is The Write Stuff, which I began shortly after I wrote my first book. It really is focused on writers, and unless I’m sharing news about a local wildlife event I’m doing, I usually don’t post about nature on the blog. That shows up more often on my Facebook pages. I do, however, change the header weekly, and often feature wildlife in my images there.

When/ how did you decide to take your blog in this direction? What do you enjoy most about opening up your blog to others?

When I wrote my first book, Wake-Robin Ridge, I decided I needed a writerly blog. It was going to be focused on whatever I was working on at the time. I knew by Day 2 that really wasn’t what I wanted to do. I wanted to have a kind of writer’s open house, where we could learn from and support each other. If The Write Stuff had a theme song, it would be the one from the TV show, “Cheers,” since it’s a place where everybody knows your name, and new arrivals are always welcomed.

While I’m on the subject of the blog, I’m very happy to announce that many of my regular features from before Real Life got in the way are coming back as I continue to catch up with all my other projects. Features such as #ExcerptWeek, #ShareAReviewDay, #WhyWriteWrong, #FabulousFridayGuestBlogger, and #InspirationBoardSunday will be coming onboard again over the weeks ahead. Many of these will focus on the wonderful writers and bloggers I’ve met over the last six years. Hope you’ll all consider taking part in some, as you see what they entail.

What has been your most powerful or memorable post?

I think I’d have to ask the good folks who’ve followed the blog for a while. I really don’t know the answer to that. I hope a lot of them are memorable, though.

And I hope that your followers chime in on that one! What is something you have learned from your collaborations?

From my own blog and those of others, I’ve learned that writers are the most generous and supportive people in the world, and that we are all learning and growing with each book.

Describe your writing style. 

I write at home in my library, every chance I get. I’m surrounded by books, and Inspiration Boards full of pictures of my locations and characters. (Or at least people that look the way I imagine my characters to look.)

For five years, I started work every day about 7:30, cup of Earl Grey tea in hand, dogs and cats fed and lounging about the room. Sometimes I’m in my nightgown, but more often, I’m in a pair of comfortable shorts and t-shirt. That routine got upended a bit over the last year, but I’m working on getting back into the groove.

I do everything on the computer. Every. Thing. Notes, files, digital bulletin boards and story boards, research, drafts, editing—the whole shebang. It would take me way too long to write anything by hand, plus time has rendered my handwriting nearly illegible. Typing is a better plan.

I work in Word, using the same template for each book, so I don’t have to mess around with margins and headings with every new one. I’ve tried Scrivener and various other programs, but I get too distracted by all the bells and whistles, and the next thing I know, the morning’s gone. Tick-tock, tick-tock. Time’s a-wastin’! At my age, I’m very aware of that. Heck, at my age, I don’t buy green bananas! 😊

I want to get the stories in my head told as quickly and as well as possible, and fooling around with other stuff doesn’t help me do that.

Which of your characters is a favorite?

It’s a tie. When I meet with readers, which I do 2 or 3 times a month at various public venues or private book clubs, I always ask them which of my characters is their favorite. Rabbit wins hands down. (He’s the main character in A Boy Named Rabbit, who managed to usurp my entire romantic suspense series by the 2^nd book.)

I love him, too, because I’m always astounded by everything he tells me. But tied with Rabbit, I have to say I most love Hunter Painter, from my 2^nd Riverbend book, Finding Hunter. He’s just the quirky, off-the-wall kind of sensitive—even angsty—guy I would have fallen for way back in my misspent youth. And he’s funny, always a big plus with me. 😊

Have you ever gotten into trouble with one of your characters, suffered a disagreement?

Never! I wouldn’t dare disagree with any of my characters. They are who they are, and they tell me everything that’s going on in their world, especially Rabbit. Plus, they expect me to write it all down exactly the way they dictate. And really, who am I to argue? The stories belong to them, after all. I’m just the go-between. 😉

I hope that folks have enjoyed this interview as much as I have, Marcia. Below they will find your bio and links. I have only read the Wake Robin Ridge series (so far) and recommend it for its enduring and appealing characters, engaging stories, and of course the beautiful setting.

Marcia has published six novels, two novellas, and one book of poetry to date, all of which are available on Amazon:

Wake-Robin Ridge Series

Wake-Robin Ridge Book 1 – https://www.amazon.com/Wake-Robin-Ridge-Marcia-Meara-ebook/dp/B00ET2QR1Q

On a January night in 1965, death came calling at an isolated little cabin on Wake-Robin Ridge. Nearly 50 years later, ex-librarian Sarah Gray has moved into the same cabin, planning to write her first novel. Plunged into an unexpected night of terror, she and her reclusive neighbor, MacKenzie Cole, discover what a heart is willing to sacrifice for love.

A Boy Named Rabbit: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 2 – https://www.amazon.com/Boy-Named-Rabbit-Wake-Robin-Ridge-ebook/dp/B00SQ4PID6

When his dying grandmother, gifted with The Sight, sets him on a quest to find the Good People, Little Rabbit must make his way out of the wilderness, alone. Rabbit crosses paths with Sarah and MacKenzie Cole, and none of their lives are ever the same again. The extraordinary little boy has the power to change the world for everyone he meets.
Harbinger: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 3 – https://www.amazon.com/Harbinger-Wake-Robin-Ridge-Book-3-ebook/dp/B01GGXAJOG

The wine-red trillium that carpets the forests of the North Carolina Mountains is considered a welcome harbinger of spring—but not all such omens are happy ones. An Appalachian legend claims the Black Dog, or Ol’ Shuck, as he’s often called, is a harbinger of death. If you see him, you or someone you know is going to die.
But what happens when Ol’ Shuck starts coming for you in your dreams? Nightmares of epic proportions haunt the deacon of the Light of Grace Baptist Church, and bring terror into the lives of everyone around him.

Riverbend Series

Swamp Ghosts: Riverbend Book 1 – https://www.amazon.com/Swamp-Ghosts-Riverbend-Book-1-ebook/dp/B00K0QXLCS

Wildlife photographer Gunnar Wolfe looked like the kind of guy every man wanted to be and every woman just plain wanted. He and Eco-tour boat owner Maggie Devlin discover that the most dangerous animal in the swamp walks on two legs. A serial killer is on the prowl in the sleepy little town of Riverbend, Florida.

Finding Hunter: Riverbend Book 2 – https://www.amazon.com/Finding-Hunter-Riverbend-Book-2-ebook/dp/B014Q8F1UU

Hunter Painter’s darkest fears have shaped his offbeat personality all his life. Only Willow Greene sees beyond his façade. When his worst nightmares become reality, they culminate in a tragedy threatening to destroy not only their love, but Hunter, himself. The story of a lost man’s desperate struggle to make his way home again to the one woman who can save him.

That Darkest Place: Riverbend Book 3 – https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B072LCVP6M

“There are dark places in every heart, in every head. Some you turn away from. Some you light a candle within. But there is one place so black, it consumes all light. It will pull you in and swallow you whole. You don’t leave your brother stranded in that darkest place.”
~Hunter Painter~

 Will the long, harrowing ordeal that lies ahead draw the Painter brothers closer together, or drive them apart forever? Suspenseful and often heartbreaking, this small-town tale is a testimonial to the redemptive power of love and paints a story filled with humor, romance, and fierce family loyalty.

The Emissary Series

The Emissary: A Riverbend Spinoff Novella – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075Y2T3CL

An angel’s work is never done—that’s part of the gig. But angels hadn’t been created to deal with such a vastly over-populated planet, rife with misery, suffering, and general chaos. Helping souls in peril has become a nearly impossible job, and even angelic tempers are frayed.

The archangel Azrael has had enough. He believes he’s found a way to ease their burden while saving jeopardized humans, too—hired help.

The Emissary 2: To Love Somebody – https://www.amazon.com/Emissary-2-Love-Somebody-ebook/dp/B07JDP2B3D

They’re back! Jake and Dodger, the first (and so far, only) Emissaries to the Angels, are on the road again.

They’re looking for mortals about to take a wrong turn. People on the brink of making a mistake that could send them down that wrong road and jeopardize their mortal souls.

Jake and Dodger are fully committed to making a positive difference, even as they struggle with issues of their own. Will Dodger get over losing his chance to learn what true love is all about? Will Jake survive the grueling angelic equivalent of Boot Camp? Will Azrael ever finish the Official Emissarial Guidebook—including the chapter titled Do Not Even Think About It?

Join Azrael’s Emissaries on their journey to find the answers.

Poetry

 Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love –   https://www.amazon.com/Summer-Magic-Poems-Life-Love-ebook/dp/B00FNBLIPC

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

You can reach Marcia via email at marciameara16@gmail.com or on the following social media sites:

The Write Stuff: http://marciamearawrites.com/

Twitter: @marciameara

Facebook: www.facebook.com/marcia.meara.writer

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/marciameara/

Marcia Meara lives in central Florida, just north of Orlando, with her husband of over thirty years, four big cats, and two small dachshunds. When not writing or blogging, she spends her time gardening, and enjoying the surprising amount of wildlife that manages to make a home in her suburban yard. At the age of five, Marcia declared she wanted to be an author, and is ecstatic that at age 69, she finally began pursuing that dream. Her belief in the redemptive power of love is a unifying factor in both of her popular series and her poetry. Today, she’s still going strong, and plans to keep on writing until she falls face down on the keyboard, which she figures would be a pretty good way to go!

March Mathness

Today is March 14th, or as we abbreviate the date here in the states, 3/14. Pi Day! I thought I might simply reblog last year’s post (check it out, it’s a good one) but then I decided to try what Kat Mryman has been up to for the month of March. She has been writing and posting  a daily Pi-Archimedes poem, a non-rhyming six lined poem, the number of words in each line matching the first six digits of Pi, 3.14159…

If you check out my post from last year you’ll see that I have played with Pi before, but this is my first Pi- Archimedes poem. I was delighted to see the form at Kat’s site and have been enjoying her poems in this unique form. Yes, there will be a Pi-etry station  in my math classes. Anyway, here is my attempt:

 

Winter leads, Spring

follows

in its own time

measured

in temperature and daylight

repeating themes, rise and fall; songs on the wing.

 

International Women’s Day

Dang! March 8th has come and gone, International Women’s Day, and what did I do about it? Not much. I went to work as usual, traveled for work with women friends over the weekend, a fun event out of the ordinary. Maybe that distraction is why I didn’t think to post anything. I certainly thought about that day. I always will. I will always remember that three years ago on that day a strong woman- a friend, neighbor, and colleague- celebrated her last radiation treatment. I know because I celebrated with her on the radiation ward. My own celebration was three weeks later, a year after losing a friend to breast cancer.

On the ward and on my way to and from the ward, I heard the stories of women. That March 8th, after my treatment, I wrote this poem on a scrap of paper while waiting at the airport for the fog to clear so I could return home. This poem is now hiding in plain sight in my book of poetry, For the Girls. So, four days late and a dollar short, here is my International Women’s Day share. We are a Universal power, y’all.

 

March 8; International Women’s Day

Some women

Some women had their last treatment today

Some their first

Some were untreated.

 

Some had heart attacks, some died

Some lived.

Some women felt dead inside

Others felt vibrant and alive.

 

Baby girls were born today

borne of women become mothers

While others became aunts, mentors, friends.

Today, and yesterday, and tomorrow.

Some will feel joy, some will feel sorrow.

 

Some women were betrayed today

Some endured violence and pain

Fell down, got pushed around

Got up, tried again.

 

Women endured today.

Some were supported, some were supportive

Some felt hate, some were hated.

Some gave love, some were loved.

 

Around the world, women endure

Some fall ill, some rise cured

Some are able to feel the hope and the good

Of a worldwide sisterhood.