a free verse stream of consciousness poem
Virtual connection with nearly ten thousand people—
My ancestors never knew
such kinship and overwhelm.
My body is separated from the laptop
with a thin mustard yellow blanket.
There’s beauty in these human voices.
There’s beauty in these typed out words.
People on my screen or in?
Probably in.
My sweater is warm.
My bare feet are cold.
Outside, the air is nearly still.
Photo by Marta Branco for Pexels
a microfiction
The girl stood by the well. The fall air was crisp, surprising. Was it not just yesterday that she had longed for the late night sun of early summer? It always felt like she was waiting for warmth and light or letting it slip from her grasp. Like she never fully had it.
The well was dry. One can only offer water to so many who pass by before reaching the dregs. And it’s not like she could add more, couldn’t bring herself to dip into anyone else’s well and risk taking what they needed. It didn’t work that way. One cannot simply take without invitation. She had to wait for more rain to come and fill it.
She hoped maybe one day, someone would bring a sip of water for her from their own well, but of course she would never venture from her spot as guardian of that-which-once-held-hydration to go ask, and no one knew to bring any to her.
The well was dry. The wind was crisp. The crescent moon still offered light. She stood there in its beam, parched, guarding her empty well.
a free verse poem
My bed still isn’t pushed up against the wall the way we talked about, but I don’t mind that. What I mind is that it will be half empty tonight and not nearly as warm.
Speaking of mind, I can’t seem to get you off of mine. My brain leans into thoughts of you the way my body might lean into a reassuring hug. I feel embraced and not suffocated by that presence. I didn’t know that was possible.
I remember your arms. I think of how they look reaching, how they look working, how they feel safe.
I used to fantasize about fantastical places and a luxurious life, but this safety is more than enough. In fact, it is what I didn’t know I was searching for. It is everything I ever wanted.
Photo by PNW Production from Pexels
The Yellow Brick Ave 