Tag Archives: runaway sentence

Six Flooded Words

Dana, Enfield, Greenwich, Prescott. Swift River.

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Six Exciting Words

Crockpot apple butter and homemade granola.

Angel

silk
wings
blooming

face obscured

I fall to my knees

wanting nothing more than to press
my face to her cool, sepia skin and weep for shame

 

A friend pointed me in the direction of this photo on Flickr. This Fibonacci (which I expanded to a seventh, thirteen syllable line)–a form I was led to by Grace on her blog–is what happened. Marian also wrote a Fibonacci today. Hers is better.

Small Boy on Drums!

Doorways

He’d slipped out for a breath of fresh air. The gallery’s climate control kept the art safely cocooned, but it couldn’t filter out the inane babble of the crowd at the opening.

The air was fresh, sharp with cold, too cold even for snow, though the clouds, steel gray, like the warehouse door, hung low.

He reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, drew out a quarter, some lint, and the ghost of his nicotine addiction.

Shit, he thought, I don’t smoke anymore.

Peregrine would be looking for him. Craving or no craving, he needed to get back to her. Of all the artists he represented, Peri was the most fragile, and the least predictable.

He put his hand on the door handle, the cold from the industrial steel handle driving straight through his flesh.

It wasn’t Peri he thought of when the cold burned his skin. It was another woman, another door handle.

Sara, warm and pulsing with humor and desire, between him and the antique five-panel door to her bedroom. He reached for the cool glass knob with one fumbling hand, the other attempting to work free the buttons of his shirt. She’d have known putting it on after her shower would drive him crazy.

“I’ll never be able to wear this shirt again,” he’d whispered against her mouth between kisses.

She’d pushed him away, reached for his belt buckle, looked up at him through her lashes.

“I want you to wear it. I want to think of you, babysitting your artists, hard for me, wearing this shirt, remembering slipping it off my shoulders.”

Impatiently biting her lower lip, she’d tugged at the button of his chinos.

“Sara.” He was a beggar.

He’d threaded his hand into the hair at her nape and brought their mouths together. The glass knob had turned in his hand, and they’d stumbled backwards into her bedroom.

Under his hand, nearly frostbitten in his reverie, the handle turned, the hinges protesting. Peri’s clear eyes, too heavily lined, peeked around the door.

“Seth? Are you okay?”

He snapped back into the cold reality of January in Boston. The warehouse stoop on SoWa so far from Sara’s Brattle Street house, only a few miles as the crow flies.

“I just came out for a cigarette.”

“Seth, honey. You don’t smoke.”

Peri opened the door expectantly.

Inspired by this photo prompt, at Bifocal Univision. My good friends Evelyn and Marian have responded as well.

Up for A Breath

So, it’s been all gloomy fiction and teenage angst (and features!) up in this place lately.

But life has actually gone on behind the scenes.

Take Thursday evening, for example! Worlds collided, universes shifted, and I met Marian! If you’re a regular, you’ll know her from the comments. Her blog is full of beautiful poetry, poignant observations, and general wonderful brilliance. She is delightful, and spending several hours with her, the last of which was spent quite literally unable to part, unable to end the conversation, in my minivan, after having closed down the local coffee place, and the Barnes and Noble down the road, was definitely the highlight of my week.

Last weekend my sister-in-law was in town with my niece and nephew, so there was lots of family fun. Gramma took us to the circus, and Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey’s Greatest Show on Earth did not disappoint. Even Felix liked it, once he got over the noise and lights. We did a Harvest Fair at Tower Hill Botanical Gardens the next day, and marched the kids to the top of Tower Hill, with it’s lovely view out to Mount Wachusett, over the Wachusett Reservoir. It’s about a hundred yards through the forest. Not exactly hiking, but very pretty! Felix, normally used to having my parents to himself, was especially clingy with Gramma, which was both endearing and irritating. He escorted her up and down the summit path, with much drama and ceremony.

Felix and his cousin A painted pumpkins together. They’re only seven months apart, and I love seeing them play together!

So, long week at work (despite it only being four days) aside, life has gone on and gone well. Sometimes it’s nice to come up out of the fiction for a breath of my lovely life.