Prayer beads grasped in hands
tears falling, fingers trembling,
she prays for her sons.
As of Nov. 14: Dedicated to Paris
Photo Credit: Nico van Diem
hope
Heaven Sent
Margaret and Kathleen: forever nine years old. Not ones to hold the chalk while others hopped from square to square, they’d met St. Peter at the gates, request in mind.
“Emissary,” was their word for the day that December first. They listened attentively as Sister Mary Kelley used it in a sentence. Henry raised his hand and at that moment, they began to smell the smoke.
And so it came to be. Fifty-seven years later, these cherubic emissaries hovered, waiting by the grave. Soon, a small child would take their hands and be escorted from this world to the next.
100 words. Photo by J. Hardy Carroll and used as this week’s prompt for Friday Fictioneers. Dedicated to those who lost their lives in Chicago’s Our Lady of the Angels Elementary School fire, December 1, 1958.
This World or the Next
Memories shimmer
stretched taut
like a spider’s web.
Tubes, wires,
stainless steel
monitors with beating blips.
You lay there in that present space
but somewhere far away.
Then, like a marionette
whose master dropped a string,
your eyes jolted open
and you returned to me.
No photo. Thankful for every day.
Panama Worker #898
It was the only evidence left.
He came to build someone else’s dream, a canal between two oceans. One year of back-breaking labor, and then a joyous return to Rosa and young Henry. His pay would ensure simple things they grappled for now. Shoes that fit a young boy’s ever-growing feet, and warm coats for cold winters.
He managed to escape malaria and avoid the brothels. His wiry mud-caked frame always alert. Nimble fingers. Quick legs. Just ten days more. Twist the wires. Set the charge and run like hell. Only this time, hell exploded in his hands.
Photo by Connie Gayer. Word Count: 98 words.
Flash fiction using this week’s photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers.
Old Woman?
I am an old woman
with the audacity to hope.
I shall wear purple
and travel to 1,000 places,
walk in the woods, eat, pray
and make love to a staggering genius.
I shall write letters from the earth
to all my friends above.
Tell them plain and simple,
at this age, the heart leaps
much higher than leaden feet
and I intend to do the long jump.
I will not stay off camera.
And I will settle for nothing less
than a raucous standing ovation
when I do decide to exit
center stage.
In the form of Found Poetry: created from book titles on my shelf – When I am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple, The Audacity of Hope, 1,000 Places to Live, A Walk in the Woods; Eat, Pray, Love; A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Letters from the Earth, Plain and Simple, and Off Camera.
October 31, 2015
Her Name Was Melody
Her goal
to live a pentatonic life
like the piano’s black keys,
always in harmony.
Carefully I Ask
This prayer I say as dark draws nigh
and she slips off to sleep,
may angels stand their guard nearby
as she dreams softly deep.
And when the sun begins to dawn,
wake to the new day’s light,
tell her she should continue on
the hope is near, within the fight.
Photo from visit to an Orthodox church in Estonia. Post motivated by Daily Photo Challenge and dedicated to my dear friend Louise.
Decision Time
Lines and lines of cars move nowhere
tempers flare, boxed in, horns blare
appointments fester in my mind
hands clamped on wheel,
like talons on prey.
I crave, I need, I must have space.
Foot to brake, pump and pump again
peck my way, inch by inch
peer through smog and fumes
find a seam, create a crack
desperately seeking blue.
I crave, I need, I lust for air.
What if I quit?
Leave it all behind.
Try new wings, not a migratory line.
Free form, to soar, to find
real, life affirming air.
I can, I should, I will.
The Meeting Place
In my dreams
I often float to Neverland.
No fairies or pirate boys,
just a place where memories live.
Images once trapped in sepia tones
slip through the web of synapses.
The loving dead come visit me
as if to soothe my soul.
Their smiling faces calm me
into a deeper, softer sleep,
assure me, whisper to me
happiness exists here, on this side too.
We are Present
One step at a time
through difficult uncertainty
we navigate ups and downs.
Watch as eagles soar,
stand in wonder at mountains
firmly rooted, standing tall.
Embrace this fullness of life,
a course to learn trust
no matter the challenge.
We live with the good news
blessed in His care,
every day to count.
Photo: Bryce Canyon National Park – mountains extraordinaire. Dedicated to all those facing difficulties looming ahead. A reminder to live in the moment, thankful for every day.
lillian the home poet 