dVerse — Prosery — Stitched

Everything I do is stitched with its color. – W.S. Merwin, from “Separation” Epithets were part of my family’s lexicon. My paternal side used gentler terms; the maternal side hurled vicious ones with glee. How my family, who lived in shacks, toiled in non-unionized factories, and were blessed to have a rabbit for dinner; and…

dVerse — Prosery — The Tender Gray

In the tender gray, I swim undisturbed.by Celia Dropkin, from,  “In Sullivan County” I was a first grandchild who basked in the attention of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and the warm light of my parents. The war had ended a few years before my birth. It was a time when food, supplies, and gasoline were rationed….

dVerse — Prosery Monday — Night Mares

In the street of the sky night walks scattering poems — by e.e. cummings, from “IX- Impressions” “In the street of the sky night walks scattering poems. Dawn will write a new one soon,” she said that night as we walked, arm in arm, our necks craned, looking up, bare feet scuffling the uneven gravel…

dVerse — Prosery Monday — Death Becomes Her

To her, death is quite romantic from Bob Dylan’s “Desolation Row” It’s not the falling in love that she finds difficult; it’s the staying in love. Suffering an all-or-nothing type of malady, when the inevitable disappointment by a lover happens, her mind begins to wander. She slips their cache open and makes a check-mark in…

dVerse — Prosery — apples, alyssum, and arnica

I’d like, too, to plant the sweet alyssum that smells like honey and peace. by Katherine Riegel, from the poem, “What I would like to grow in my Garden.” Summer’s wandered off. Harvest moon presides during crisp-aired dormiveglia that sweetens the apples. Not quite autumn, sunshine continues cavorting with wind’s playful nips. Today, Melba strolls…

TSM 226 — forever rose

We meet here every Tuesday morning at Rosie’s cafe, to sip coffee and converse about what’s happened since last week. It’s ordinary things we talk about, like what our kids have been up to, yard work planned and/or completed, what chapter we’re on in our current books, what episode on our current series. We’ve filled…

dVerse — Prosery Monday — killing me softly

Ushuaia Beach Hotel in Ibiza, Spain Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:— –by Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr., from The Chambered Nautilus I’d promised to take myself on a February vacation; one that would get me away before winter end’s grey desperation set in. Unfulfilled for a decade, I’m now…