Publication – is the Auction Of the Mind — Emily Dickinson, from Publication – is the Auction (788) Heard The first things she remembers are screams. Her own. And too much red. Twelve years later… Lilac wafts through window of the third-floor dormitory, waking Dahlia. It’s laundry day. Still an hour before dawn. She pads…
Category: prosery
dVerse Prosery Monday — Factory Farmed
image link It all belies / Our existence; we wait, and are still denied.–From “Winter-Lull” by D.H. Lawrence Factory Farmed I wake. Even with blindfold, it is bright. Around us, sound of metal clinking, squeak of rolling wheel, muffled voice over intercom echoes as if we’re in a large space. Climate-controlled air whooshes. Stench of…
dVerse Prosery Monday — Return
“A Crowned Merman” by Arthur Rackham (1867-1939) Lips forget what they have kissed.–Toni Morrison, from, “Eve Remembering“ Return For a month, each night Mara dreams of him there, her Robert, whom she believed was invincible, swaying in yellow-green sea amongst sargasso, eyes wide. Each morning, she lights incense and kneels at the shrine she built…
dVerse Prosery Monday — Final kiss
Bury me with the lies I told.–Alejandro Escovedo, from “Bury Me“ Final Kiss We grew up as neighbors. Your folks and ours were best friends. Moms canning peaches together every summer. Dads on the same bowling league. Remember when we all got Stingrays with banana seats? I remember it started in 9th grade, when we…
dVerse Prosery Monday — Granites and Schists
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…
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…
Tao-Talk 