cdnb.artstation.com In space in time I sit thousands of feet above the sea From May Sarton, “Meditation in Sunlight” We live under the waves. Flood and fire made us choose. Would we focus our last gasps to breaking free of the sky; or would we submerge and return to our mammalian predecessors’ domain? A few…
Category: prosery
dVerse — Prosery — Empty Promise
This year’s a different thing, – I’ll not think of you. — Charlotte Mew, from “I so liked spring” Five years ago: “I swear, they wait until I fall asleep to come in and do their pusher, scavenger, and vampire duties,” you whisper from the rumpled bed. The dark circles under your eyes match the…
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…
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