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…
Category: prosery
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…
dVerse — Prosery — Great Aunt Zi
she’d had it sliced away leaving a scar –Michael Donaghy, from his poem, Liverpool Lili remembers the family story, where her Grandmother Char’s grandmother planted the ginkgo tree the day Char was born. The sapling, a scrawny thing that grew with a misshapen trunk, was like her, misshapen. Char remembers how her aunts surveyed the…
dVerse — Prosery Monday — Lost? plus update: youtube of Matthew McC… speech
These are the things they don’t tell us.– Girl Du Jour, from Notes on Uvalde I’m floating up, out of the operating room ceiling, through walls, the roof of the hospital, and into the night sky. Drowsy in the black expanse, I feel warm in a giant palm that closes around my nakedness. My hospital…
dVerse — Prosery — May Day Knocks
For how can I be sure I shall see again The world on the first of May –From “May Day” by Sara Teasdale I’ve fallen on black days. My ears are deaf to birdsong; nose unmoved by the scent of hyacinth; the soft crush of early strawberries between my molars untasted. Mid-Spring breezes skim over…
dVerse — Prosery — December May Yet…
Talk what you please of future spring and sun-warm’d sweet tomorrow. –Christina Rossetti, from Daughter of Eve Bell is working her way towards upper management. Armand is an exchange student beginning a summer internship. As Bell speaks fluent Spanish she’s been asked to mentor him. Even though she, forty years old, is twice Armand’s age,…
dVerse — Prosery — The magic of rain
I wandered lonely as a cloud. –by William Wordsworth, from his eponymous poem Seeing a cumulus puff amongst cirrocumulus sheets made the mountain dragon laugh. “You’re an anachronism!” Try as I might to slough off the words, his throaty grumbles clung like heavy ice crystals. They turned my cushiony cotton into spiked crackles which shredded…
Tao Talk 