One Week Later

Sitting still

hurts

just like

moving

does.

Tilting

off-kilters

and

woozies

as dizzy

day dreams

die.

My head

feels

screwed

on wrong

and my

bones

poke

out of place.

The spine’s

still mine

but in the pictures

it looks like

a textbook

mistake.

I fidget while standing.

I fidget while sitting

and while I’m awake

I just want to sleep.

And while I sleep

I just want to run

and dance

and look down at my feet

and lift heavy things

like books

like food

like laundry

like one-month-old babies.

But today’s

not

the day

that I

am all better

and that

is okay

with me.

 

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The Difference Between Messy & Dirty

There is a difference between messy & dirty.

Messy is clay counterclockwise on the wheel, paint splatting spots on clothes, and baking flour dusting your nose.

Dirty is surprise spiderwebs, festering ants, and age-old dust turned grime.

I’ve decided I hate feeling dirty.

Sometimes it’s more than what soap could wash away.

Dirty is holey 5-year-old shoes, nodding when you don’t understand, and when guys look at you the wrong way.

Shame. Guilt. Inferior

Dirty.

I love clean.

Clean is warm soapy water, thick new socks, and an out-of-the-tray printed page.

Clean is deep air through nose and closed eyes, stars with nothing between, and strawberries with sugar.

Clean is baby skin, fresh ink, and warm towels.

Clean is a light switch both on and off.

Clean is the sound of moving water.

Clean is pure.

Joy.

The Spreading Disease of Horizontal Surfaces

So, I’ve been wanting to write this poem literally for months.

But I didn’t ever try sitting down to work on it.

And then today, while procrastinating work on my little dinosaur book project, I got the first lines while standing in front of a mirror examining my chin scar.

What follows is the result:

“Here, here! This meeting’s 

not yet adjourned 

for all parties 

much concerned 

all gathered here 

like gathered dust 

on our topic: 

horizontal surface-sus! 

“Good friends, good day 

and do not fear! 

I believe a cure 

is rather near 

for stubborn  

plateaus ever mean 

which are so hard 

for us to clean. 

“On every table, shelf, 

counter, or chair 

clutter mounts up  

just everywhere 

spreading like some  

infectious disease 

going wherever  

it may please! 

“This devastation 

must meet an end 

any suggestions 

you recommend?”  

“I say we stop it 

spreading more 

by placing clutter 

on the floor!” 

“No that won’t do, 

try this instead: 

place everything  

upon your bed!” 

“What a solution! 

Look what we’ve learned. 

Good friends,  

This meeting is thus adjourned!”

777 Writing Challenge

Writing novels can be a lonely undertaking.

Few people outside of my writing community know anything about my story worlds and characters that I’d lived with for years.

What I write is FAR from publishing so I don’t share much, if anything.

Yet.

Here we are.

A fellow OYANer, Rachel, did this 777 challenge on her blog:

The 777 Challenge
This challenge is a little “game” to share your current WIP (work in progress) of whatever it is you’re writing, assuming you have enough written to qualify.

Also apparently after looking through the backlog of tags from previous blogs who have done this, this challenge was originally referred to as the 7777 Challenge (four 7s instead of three), but I’m dropping the last 7 and you’ll see why at the end of the list.

How It Works

  1. Open WIP to the 7th page.
  2. Scroll past the 7th line.
  3. Copy the next 7 paragraphs, and… paste them on your blog for the world to see!
  4. Tag 7 other people to do this challenge.

 

I just went down quite the rabbit hole of poorly fonted blogs trying to see where this challenge started, but the internet is a vastly dark and dangerous place….

What follows is an excerpt from approximately page 7 and since there was dialogue, I fudged the 7 paragraphs thing.

The girl’s cone had collapsed. The others handed her napkins and she wiped off everything. She unhooked Jerry and, to my horror, dropped him in the trash! They all walked away laughing!

“Ugh!” I said, coming out from behind the counter.

The bell clanged as I sped outside. There in the trash can, on top of grimy spoons and paper bowls, lay poor Jerry face-down in despair. I pulled him out and took him inside.

“What are you doing?” Goldi asked.

“I’m going to clean him up.”

I carried him to the bathroom sink and ran warm water over his dear, soiled body.

“What are you going to do with it?”

She leaned in the doorway.

“Keep him, of course!”

“For what?”

I turned off the faucet and squeezed the water out. He looked loads better already.

“For me.”

Grabbing some paper towels I patted him as best as I could. Goldi still stood there. She looked ready to say something.

“So, I’m weird!” I said. “I like stuffed animals. There are worse hobbies to have, right?”

I pushed past her through the doorway, walked to the back, and clipped Jerry onto my purse.

The rest of the work day went pretty smoothly. An hour before the shift ended, I dipped waffle cones in chocolate since there was a lull in customers. Goldi’s phone went off, and she rushed to the back to take it. We aren’t really supposed to be on our phones at work; I keep mine in my purse.

The doorbell jangled but I had just dipped two cones, one in each hand, and the chocolate rained down. A rowdy family of six joked and laughed pointing their grimy fingers on the freezer glass.

This was loads of fun!
If you are inspired to take on the 777 challenge as well, feel free to leave a link in the comments so I can read yours and edit this post to share your link.

Three Harps

Edge of seat silence,

thick as resin,

spreads throughout the room.

Most here have heard

it all before

but mine are novice ears.

Below, small hands

ease with grace

shoulder to shoulder

in fond embrace.

Parallel palms

press quiet

trembling wires

as each foot pedal

tests once

twice.

A deep breath

breaks the surface

of silence

rippling open the tide of liquid

music.

Hum tremors

thrum heartstrings

pulled tight in

wonder.

Mesmerising thumbs

bat butterfly wings

of dreams drifting

themselves to sleep.

Spell winding gossamer

drips honey

like rain

and pools ripple

thunderous

mid-chest rumbles

plucked up

and hung to drift dry

in wafting

sunset July

breath

caught

so as not

to miss

one

note.

Southside Diner

You’d think I would have learned my lesson in college, but no.

Today it finally struck home: half&half is NOT the same as creamer, no matter how much sugar you pour in.

Southside is the breakfast hangout of the greatest generation of our community. I think it’s safe to say I was the youngest in the building by 20 years – taking into account the waitresses.

As “I wanna get lost in your rock and roll” played over the radio, someone in the kitchen clapped along.

I was tempted to change seats from the booth with a front row view of the bread rack to the bar with swivel seats by the shining traffic light. But I stayed put ordering eggs benedict to go with my coffee.

I’ve never had eggs benedict previously, so I didn’t know exactly what to expect. I only knew the name becasue of a Facebook restaurant game from a thousand years ago.

When my meal arrived, I couldn’t help noticing that it appeared to be drowning and pleaded with it’s eyes for rescue.

southside eggs

I can safely say it was the best eggs benedict I’ve ever had!

Subdued

What do you call it

when second-hand rain

collected on leaves

descends like silent glitter

flashing in the setting sunlight?
It’s not quite a sunshower

because the rain is over now.

The birds and bunnies

came out to the yard.

A dewslide?

But dew is a result

of condensation,

not a result

of a thunderstorm.

A lightshower.

Yes.

And I don’t mean light

as in easy,

or not-as-hard.

I mean light.

Glistening.

Listening.

This afternoon’s thunderstorm

left residue

– dew –

(but not)

leaving leaves

reduced

to water

slides

alleyways.

I pause

the sun gleams

neon green

through leaves

leaving me

subdued

and

speech

less.