It’s a haibun Monday at d’Verse, and Frank J. Tassone is serving. On this dubious day of remembrance we are asked to use “indigenous” as our prompt word. Here’s where that prompt led me.
You have displaced me. You have disparaged and disowned me. You have left me behind, left me out, left me for dead.
Now you seek me out, entreat me to take up with you again; beseech me to be your guide. You’re beginning to realize that the knowledge you sought cannot replace my innate wisdom.
No matter where you are, I am native to your place. I am native to you; I am your indigenous self. But somehow you have lost your way. You cry for me, the child you once were.
I cry for you. I have reason to be wary, yet I appear, hopeful you will listen, hopeful I can lead you back.
all lost in conquest
interior landscapes razed
wild voice echoing
She actually won the lottery. Not millions. But thousands, enough to make some changes. She walked through her home, taking stock.
She would have the bathroom totally renovated. She didn’t mind the bedroom, but would get a new mattress. The downstairs floors could use refinishing. Maybe upgrade the appliances, at least get the dishwasher repaired.
She thoughtfully surveyed the living room. Without taking his eyes from the television her husband told her to not even think about replacing his recliner.
That was not what she was thinking of replacing.
An 89 word story for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #127. The prompt word is “replace”.
It was a simple note, hastily scrawled, but it made her smile. Leaving a note was a small thing that she appreciated and that he usually didn’t bother with; he’d even signed this one “I love you”.
According to the note he would be back from his errands in an hour. She decided, as a small act of reciprocation, to have his favorite snack ready and waiting for him.
When an hour and a half passed she was mildly annoyed; when two and a half hours passed she had gone from anger to worry; when the phone rang following the distant sirens, she trembled answering it.
She still has the note, reads it often and wonders what the rest of their lives together would have been had it not been for that terrible accident that took him so swiftly and unexpectedly that afternoon.
Take NOTE. It’s another Six Sentence Story prompt from Denise at GirlieOntheEdge. Drop by and leave a Six of your own or read the others.
Please read and write responsibly, six sentences at a time.
It’s a quadrille Monday at the Poet’s Pub, #89 in fact, and Merril has served up the word set. Despite some initial technical difficulties I am now all set with these 44 words.
Seed potatoes and onion sets
his planting now mostly these
come fall he’ll gather butternuts
apple drops from straggly trees.
His old horse predeceased him
hamed collar hangs near the plow
wonders how he’ll get the wood in
to keep winter fires burning now.
there’s no more safe haven.
under myths’ cloaks.
Were there ever havens?
All hopes wither with yours
For awhile I have been meaning to try out “cinqku”, a form that Kat Myrman has been using quite effectively at like mercury colliding. This is not that five line form. This poem does have two sets of five lines with the cinqku 2,3,4,6,2 syllable count, followed by two final lines of 6 and 2 syllables. I fudged it, in form and function, all so that I cold make the 32 word count for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt challenge using the word “haven“.
It’s bad enough having a brother, even worse when he’s a twin, but not an identical twin, just fraternal, just another brother, except this one has the same birthday and everyone compares us, which he likes because to him everything is a competition, a contest, even though everything comes easily to him, even school.
In fifth grade Mrs. Wilson said she can’t go bending the rules now can she, that even though I have started reading a sixth book I haven’t finished six books so I can’t get on the bus to go on the special picnic with my brother and all the other kids who’ve managed to read six or more chapter books since Christmas break. I will have to stay behind with Ms. Danielson and her first and second graders.
It’s lunchtime but instead of going upstairs to the gym where lunch is usually served the little kids carry boxes of sandwiches and chips outside for a picnic and then we stay outside all afternoon because some of the boxes contain picture books. Ms. Danielson has me help some of the little kids with their reading and she tells her class to always choose kind and to work hard like me, tells me she knows I don’t just coast through school.
Now I am in sixth grade and Mrs. Wilson is trying to convince me to go on the picnic bus because I read eight chapter books, two more than my brother, but I don’t, I get permission to stay behind because it’s Friday and ever since that day in fifth grade I go to Ms. Danielson’s on Friday afternoons to read with the little kids.
The Six Sentence Story prompt is “coast”. Thank you Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge for continuing the venerable tradition and coaxing stories, six sentences at a time.