My Writing
My collection of poetry, prose, and short stories
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Inspired by the Pintrist prompt: “Write what he said about the coffee” “It’s cold.” He said it blandly, an observation rather than a complaint. It was a short sentence. A mere two words about a cup of coffee after a stony 16 hours of silence. “Should I warm it for you?” I asked, careful to…
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The sun beat down on your face as you lay in the grass next to me. Your right arm rested over your eyes, while your left hand rested on my knee. Next to your head a full dandelion temptingly nodded it’s cotton head. I reached across your sleeping form, careful not to disturb your slumber,…
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In the dead of night, silence dances to the racing of my heart. I sit in my bed illuminated by my lamp’s orange glow. Hours slide past as time stands still- I’m as calm and raging as flickering flame. And I gulp down herbal tea as if it’s the remedy to the manic anxiety in…
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I still think of you when I hear that song. But today, instead of the familiar stab of pain, I smiled, then laughed, then sang along.
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Coffee in the morning sitting at my desk. Tea after lunchtime- while I take a little rest. A Glass of wine with dinner, with a fruity plume. An herbal drink at night time, a nightcap in my room. My day measured in beverages, drank at their appointed time. A mug, a teacup, and a stemmed…
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I knew our relationship would end when I didn’t delete my breakup playlist. I stared at the lineup of songs That nursed me through our first and second love affair. I read through the titles with my thumb hovering over delete, But I couldn’t erase that playlist, Because I knew I’d need those songs again.
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Every winter I seclude myself in my hobbit hole of a home. I surround myself with hot beverage, warm blankets, and fuzzy sweaters so I can pretend that the cold doesn’t exist. The short days drag into never-ending weeks of self-isolation and hibernation. All the hours pass by in a gray smog of monotony, fatigue,…
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Has the night always encroached so quickly, after the leaves have turned? Has the dark always fallen so surely after the first season’s snow? Have the days always been so short? Have hours always felt so long? Has winter always entered so suddenly? Where has the autumn gone?
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“Sit with me” the wind howls through my window. “Come run with me” it beckons in the night. “Hear me!” It screams through the branches. “Follow me” It’s shadowless presence invites. “I will bring you clarity” “I will bring you truth” In a voice made to disturb, soothe, and seduce as I shiver in my…
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I take the half-filled journal from my bedside; The leather cover is warm in my hands. The broken spine falls open on the table, displaying parchment pages the color of sand. My quill tip pen is newly filled after several month of sparing use. It hovers over the empty pages as I await my writing…
Bringing Mae Flowers 