Author: lillian

Empty Nest

lillian14 Comments

Coffee cup in hand, she focused on the shapes coming into focus through the morning mist. James said they’d be a family science project. Bat houses. She’d agreed, only if they were a good distance from the house…

A good distance from the house…in-state college would have been nice. She smiled softly, thinking about the “Roots and Wings” adage on the plaque above her bureau. He sure spread his wings…

The telephone startled her. Coffee sloshed as she grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

“Oh, sorry mom. Did I wake you? It’s noon here. Just wanted to touch base. I miss you.”

kitchen-window

Word Count: 100.
Photo credit: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Flash Fiction written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers.
Learn more about bat houses!

Loretta

lillian3 Comments

Happy in her new digs,
plywood and metal scraps,
original resident dead.
A step up from cardboard,
if she could eradicate the smell.

Comic strips, the colored ones,
wallpaper of choice.
Condoms stored in knock-off bag,
Pick your flavor, pick your place.
But no, not here. Not in my space.

Golden locket round her neck
broken knotted chain.
Daddy’s picture kept within,
missing god knows where
always hangng near.

Mama’s image burned one day.
Albatross memories
seared in heart.
Flailing arms and slurred tongue,
bottle thrown. Crashed into her soul.

YOU. GET. OUT.

And so she did,
grabbed the locket and ran.
Happy sweet sixteen.
Birthday promise made that day
always kept, these many years.

Sobriety.
Eyes tired, never shut.
She saw their faces, every john.
Every thrust she felt,
every punch and hunger pain.

But slurring, oblivious sot?
She would NEVER be her.

a-girl-eerily-exhausted-1537602

Photo credit: Linda Lacerna. Somehow, in this holiday season, my heart is drawn to those who have not – the Lorettas of this world.

The Reader

lillian5 Comments

Grocery cart near, she sits
tattered book in lap,
mutters, sometimes yells
talks aloud to no one.

Page eight, crawl through,
into that letter E, straight lines.
They won’t follow, can’t see me.
I fit in this book! FLAT SPINE!

Invisible. I hide in air,
melt on pages with big letters.
Home is no where. Go ahead.
Jump into the story. Whatever it is.
Show them. I AM SOMETHING!

She stands up, unsteady,
lands on top of book,
face first in torn pica print.
And she disappears
from your corner,
into a pauper’s grave.

Homeless_woman_in_Toronto

Photo credit: Wikipedia

A Boston Tradition

lillian16 Comments

Mother’s Day. Exhausted, incredulous. Home from the parade, she sat sipping sherry, flipping through albums. Pictures of children covered in yellow feathers. Thirty years of moms pushing buggies, pulling wagons, kids quacking.

Roberta surprised her this year. Came cross-country for this Boston tradition. And her costume! She manipulated poles so the wings stretched six feet above the crowds. More like a chicken but no mind. She drew oohs and ahs.

Mrs. McCloskey smiled through tears. Make Way for Ducklings, Caldecott book and so much more. How proud her father would be. His legacy for this city’s children and the world!

luther-siler

100 words. Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers. Rochelle provides a photo for a 100-word story. Tales vary widely. Photo this week is by Luther Siler.
Make Way for Ducklings by Robert McCloskey, first published in 1941. A Caldecott Medal Winner it motivated a popular sculpture in Boston’s Public Gardens of Mrs. Mallard and her ducklings, and the annual mothers’ day Ducklings parade.

Moments

lillian3 Comments

Wayward cells grow
the shy speak, the far come near
love surrounds as body dissipates
defiance gives way to destiny
present dissolves from gift to waiting place
angels kneel, ushers ready to rise,
battle almost won.
His tears, moist on her parched lips
she rattle sighs
and her spirit soars.

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