sunday muse #214

sydney seems bitten, just stares at the stars, and the stars consume her, we wonder where she goes when those story-time-eyes close, coveralls covered in clover, grass stain knees, croaking frog, soaking wet, moonlight dripping from her hair, she chases fireflies, or maybe they’re falling stars (sydney has a little ant farm, and everywhere that sydney goes, fire ants are sure to burn ghosts down) she also dreams of poppies, all the colors she can remember, all the colors she can smell, they grow as tall as immortals, she dreams she can climb as high as she wants
all the way to the moon
or straight into a storm

posted for the sunday muse

22 thoughts on “sunday muse #214”

  1. (See my note on the previous poem. It applies here as well.)

    We’re wondering if our dog got bitten by a snake recently, so I can’t help but read this tale with her in mind—including the coveralls with dirty knees. 🙂

    Seriously, read it as if it’s about a beloved outside dog, whose day you may not know every detail about, but wonder. Then imagine this piece being about its dying moments. Really beautiful, I think.

    Again, thank you. These short pieces elate me.

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      1. I’d like to read some of your attempts at haiku/senryu. Just describe in micro some literal moments you experience throughout the day. You’ll find it therapeutic, I think.

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      2. well i do write haiku, but rarely ever share them, and rarely ever write them down… but… ok here is one i wrote a few weeks ago and i still remember it.

        old cars rotting
        and the skunk weeds
        in bloom

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      3. Perfect. I love little nuggets like this. This one makes me think of two very specific images in my own life, both drawing smiles. Thank you.

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      6. ah, i like that. i remember my grandmother and all aunts would hang out and crochet, always laughs and joking. my grandmother had the greatest laugh, whenever i heard it, i knew all was right with the universe, thank for the memory

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      7. ♡

        Much love for grandmothers and their handiwork.

        My mom used to crochet. We had a million little doilies and hot pads. My husband’s grandma crocheted, and she and his mom also sewed many little dresses for my daughter’s. I miss that so much—that whole bygone era of doing every by hand … their stories of churning butter, washboarding, growing their own food. It’s a priceless way of life we’ve lost.

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      8. true, as our technology advances, individuals within societies become more specialized and compartmentalized, and general human aptitude gets weaker, it’s a never-ending cycle, funny you would bring that up now… as i happen to be working on something =)

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      10. I cannot tell you how blessed I feel to live out in the country surrounded by the last generation of people left who know how to do everything the old-school way. People bring us all kinds of homegrown things—watermelons, squash, potatoes, pears, peaches, persimmons. It’s very special to me.

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  4. I don’t know how you can make simple declarative sentences sound so magical, so alive., but don’t stop. Every line here rewards the reader with a crisp image, a truth wrapped in a star. The best part is how you have made this character live and breathe and seem real and familiar even as each thing about her is fantastical and strange. I especially love the ant farm. Just gorgeous writing.

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