This piece is yet another work in progress. I would appreciate any feedback on composition or completion (is it complete or does it feel incomplete and abrupt).
A stray took to me
Like a fox to a fawn
And in so doing clung to my skirt
With such grip that she
almost tore me loose
From my garment
So instead of resisting
I guided her
along with me
And took rest by a bank
For I knew she would like to investigate
Just as much as I
What company had befallen her
The following text is a snippet from a short story of mine which continues to be a work in progress.
I could tell it was storming, but not for the sound of thunder or rain. The window frame was plastered so well that I could hear no sounds from the outside, but I could see the drops falling and the trees whipping wildly in the wind. Sparse flashes of light illuminated the dark room and made Caroline visible. She seemed so much smaller underneath the covers, and I didn’t think there was anything that could make her petite frame look any frailer than it already did.
When insomnia took me, as it so often did, I sat on the end of Caroline’s bed and rubbed her legs. So far, she hadn’t been woken by this, but I swear I could hear her sigh when I started massaging. When the snoring came, I knew she had drifted off properly and I could stop rubbing her little legs. Caroline would fight with anyone who pointed out her. No way did she snore. Snoring was for boys and old grandpas with bad breath and white hair.
Sometimes I imagined what it would be like if Caroline and I lived in the country. The grass would be lush and green wherever we could see it, and the wheat fields would be golden like the stars that hung above them at night. I pictured the two of us lying in the grass with the moon over our heads and fireflies dancing around like fairies. We would probably swap stories and rhymes and point out the Milky Way. Maybe we would lie like this forever.
I moved to the window, my bare feet patting against the cold grey floor, and saw that the rain had stopped; something to look forward to, a clear day, made it easier to rest when I returned to my bed.
I couldn’t help but think about the look Caroline gave me earlier, when I bent over to kiss her sweet little forehead. Her eyes were wide, black and piercing, like eagle eyes that began to well up with tears. She smelled of jasmine and roses and cool summer nights, a mixture of scents that seemed to stick on her body and never leave.
When my daisy
Came to life
I hinged myself forward and tickled her petals
Then plucking her up forcefully
I cradled her and twirled her up overhead
Dangling her between sky and ground
And like a rabid saltshaker
Her pollen milled through the cracks on my fingers
And seeped into my skin.
While she lay in bed, she felt the breeze rush in from the open window. The curtains danced along with every gust and whip the wind took. What pleasure the night had brought her. What utter content it was to have the light of the moon hover outside, as she lay cloaked in sheets, sinking into cushion and feathers. Every inhale took her deeper under the covers, every exhale was a cuddle and a relief. The chirping crickets sang to her, or were a steady beat, keeping with the rhythm of her breath. If she could stay this way forever, she would.
Not long now;
I can almost smell the smell
my sweet, little baby autumn
so welcome to rest
upon my breast.
I would take
this big head of mine
and shrink it to the size of a glass marble
if I could,
and not even think twice
if it were to roll away
off the side of a cliff
at least then my head could
be of some use
the scattered fragments
could reflect the sun
create sparkling flicks of twinkle,
or cut someone.
How intently and with purpose the wind blows
with every gust and turn in direction
it is the sweet laugh of God
combing through my hair
and untangling my scarf.