Elena Rose

January 12, 2015 § Leave a comment

Matthew stood in the center of the wood floor, brown eyes darting around, deciding what she should wear today. Elena Rose was pitching the fit of a toddler, but he continued, trying to dress her decently. Mothballs and rodent remnants punctuated the air, a scent which never became familiar to him, though he cared for his wife daily. Although she was crazy, he loved and cared for her unconditionally. His frail white hands, textured in wrinkles, gingerly dressed the cream figure in a flowered sundress and colorful plastic beads, topped with a green hat to accent her strawberry-blonde hair. A tasteful outfit, much like the Elena he knew as a younger man would wear. Summer swept in quicker than expected, pinching off spring’s delicate flowers and moderate temperature. The husband and wife felt suffocated by the boxes and trunks encompassing them. The items were piled from floor to ceiling, spewing forth the remains of his wife’s legacy. She didn’t get out much anymore; she told him that she preferred the attic of their home more than town or the rest of it, because her belongings gleefully decorated every corner of the stuffy wooden room.

“How do you like your outfit today Laney?”

She smiled.

“That much, huh?”

“I’m glad you approve,” he winked at her. “I’m thinking about cleaning out this old attic and storing some things in the basement. What do you think?”

She smiled again and gave a slight head nod like a queen acknowledging the presence of her inferior.

Sweat droplets slid down his forehead, leaving trails like slugs, reminding him of the reality he must enter into once again. Matthew wiped his brow in staccato with the back of his forearm. He glanced back at his wife. She had nodded off. He trudged down the attic stairs.

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Heartache Presses On

February 6, 2014 § 1 Comment

A broken heart
is like a house settling.
The cracks
are never mended.
Shock splits them
deeper.
I feel fire
in my core,
a pool of lava seething.
It burns and cauterizes
my thoughts,
separating them
from logic in the air.
These feelings
burst;
reason desperately
infuses them,
but are cauterized
again.
When did I become
so dependent
on technology.

Juxtaposition of Soul and Earth

November 8, 2013 § Leave a comment

Here I sit, amidst the tattle of leaves,

burning bushes atop the trees. The chill slows

us as it slows molecules. The bell hails

the orange mountains—

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Open Doors

January 26, 2013 § 2 Comments

Image

The door is open. Would you care to step through?  To venture around untraipsed wood on messy trail, led by your choices to green glades with sprigs of sunshine. Symmetry, color, beauty forming one plant in so many. The lovely caress of gentle wind, the earthen smell of dirt and grass, the little voices of a chipper choir: surround.

Or perhaps, if other paths you choose, ones more clean cut, to a barren land not awoken by morning dew, not breathed upon by blessed wind, and not warmed by sun’s drowsy rays, you arrive.

Cinnamon Buns

January 13, 2013 § 2 Comments

Cinnamon Buns

And here, lovely people, are the long awaited cinnamon buns. Read my post in “Life” (to be written shortly) for more knowledge of this unbaked, beautiful food.

Tainted

December 22, 2012 § 2 Comments

It was a normal day in English. Our class was chatting, and our teacher had left to retrieve something somewhere in our small school; he couldn’t have gone far. Suddenly he came into the room, arms pulled down by the weight of a grey concrete block. He dropped it on a desk and told us to describe it in one word. We went around the tables multiple times, throwing out adjectives of all sorts, some physical, some abstract, and a few classmates wrote them all on the board. The white boards were no longer white, but blue with as many words as you could think of to describe a cinder block. When we were finished, our teacher told us to choose one word. We did. Then he assigned the homework: describe the cinder block without using any of these words, but you must express the word you chose in some way. Here’s what I wrote:

The young woman was sitting on the bench, waiting for the bus. She had gotten off of work early, but consequently had to wait for the city’s schedule to catch up with hers. On the parallel sidewalks, people were busily commuting home, and some to 3rd shift at work; the sun was already showing hints of disappearing. It was apparent that the woman’s thoughts were preoccupied, but the passers-by took little notice of her. She might as well have been dead and rotting in the grave. It was almost as if she were a sculpture on the street, made to be looked at only on special occasions, but otherwise ignored.  « Read the rest of this entry »

A Mini Story

May 26, 2012 § Leave a comment

In Home Depot an aisle was closed off. We were curious as to what the big commotion was over, so we wandered over there, as close as possible. Suddenly a platform began to ascend, carrying a man, who was strapped to it, upwards. In his hand, he held an extra long reacher. He was looking upwards, but his point of his attention was not the ceiling, it was a bird.

Upon further inspection, we saw the bird’s leg was caught in the metal ceiling rafter. Immediately I dashed around the corner and kneeled down. Clapsing my hands, eyelids shut tight, I prayed my heart out. About a minute later, someone came to find me, and interrupted my prayer. I quickly finished with AMEN. “Are you praying for the man?” she asked. “He was strapped in, so he was safe.”

I was hesitant to answer. “Well, him too.”

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