The granites and schistsOf my dark and stubborn country.— by Nan Shepherd, from, “The Hill Burns”from In the Cairngorms* Granites and Schists She lay curled and still, a small figure lost in loose, white cotton folds in the graffiti-enshrined bus stop cubicle. A puffy-jacketed arc of bystanders with pointed phones surrounds her. Sirens approach. Crowds…
Category: prosery
dVerse Prosery Monday — Discovering Warmth
Mia Goth in Frankenstein Not yesterday I learned to knowThe love of bare November daysBefore the coming of the snow,— by Robert Frost, from My November Guest Discovering Warmth Mother and Father are two different parts of the same animal. Mother prowls my form, draping it in loose fabric with high, choking lace collars. Bonnets…
dVerse — Prosery — The Enemy
image found at imgur The Enemy Drab olive duffel bulges on white chenille bedspread, waiting. Shaving, questioning in my reflection, I nick the curve of my jaw. Blood drips into sink. “Billy, come down for breakfast!,” Ma yells. I already know it’s blueberry pancakes by the aroma wafting up the stairwell. They’re my favorite, but…
dVerse — Prosery Monday — Palled
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot Palled Continuing with dawn, an unsettled pall, first cast upon my mood in restless slumber. Exhausted from a night of being chased, barefoot, through rotting vegetation by old beaus, I startled awake, breathing heavily….
dVerse — Prosery Monday — Future’s Garden
“William Morris 6” The future gathers in vine, bush, and tree:Persimmon, walnut, loquat, fig, and grape”by Yvor Winters from Time and the Garden Future’s Garden She wakes to coughs, groans, and clanks. Rubbing her eyes, crusted with dust, she winces and wonders how much time she has before her clouded corneas become blindness. Or will…
dVerse — Prosery Monday — At Will
I would have learnt to love black days like bright ones.— from Derek Walcott’s, “Dark August” At Will God plants seed at will, giving each an ought to live, thrive under whatever circumstances each finds itself in; be it dandelion seed in sidewalk crack or newborn in winter’s drafty crib with sour milk-smelling blanket. Social…
dVerse — Prosery — Morning Coffee Reflections
To hurt is to steal — Bono and U2, from “Mysterious Ways” on Achtung Baby Morning Coffee Reflections She drinks her morning coffee with them. He, an introverted creeper who preyed on babysitters and kept Polaroids of children in his sock drawer; who wigged out when one of his OCD rules were violated. She, who…
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