Baby monitor
breathes static. I listen for
each cough or whimper.
I can’t hear her breaths;
I have to have faith in them.
Good night, my baby.
Month: May 2016
Haiku for the Untimely End to a Nap
Sleep interrupted,
a baby vents her just rage,
clinging to my arm.
The Molotov Cocktail Flash Felon Contest
The results of The Molotov Cocktail‘s Flash Felon contest are in! The contest asked for flash fiction stories containing a crime. I was psyched to have my story, “Everything Must Go,” come in 4th! I’ve just gotten back to submitting lately, and this was a big boost for me! I’m still learning how to carve out writing time now that I’m balancing life with my daughter. This was a great contest, and I enjoyed writing for it.
If you like short stories with a criminal element, check out the link below and definitely read the top ten! I’m still working my way through the list, but I’ve read the winning story, by Jan Kaneen, and it’s fantastically eerie.
Poem for a Moment in the Supermarket
She looked lost this week,
scanning food, bagging, without
recognition… I
wanted to clutch her
bent shoulders and pull her out
into the normal
I knew for her. I
tried. She did not know me, though
we’ve often exchanged
words about our cart,
my pregnancy, the baby,
my husband’s Asian
heritage and hers.
I smiled, spoke and was ready
to meet her eyes, but
I stopped short before
breaking into her world with
“Are you OK?” though
I could’ve, should’ve
maybe. At least I send her
thankful, hopeful thoughts
until next week, when
I’ll unload my cart again
and see if all’s well.
Siren in the Sky – Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers
This story is for Friday Fictioneers, the weekly prompt provided by Rochelle on her blog, Addicted to Purple. She gives us a photo and no more than 100 words to tell a story. Be sure to visit Rochelle’s blog! This week’s photo is from C.E. Ayr. Also, if you’d like to read more responses to this prompt, or if you’d like to add your own, click on the blue frog below.
Image from C.E. Ayr
Siren in the Sky
(100 words)
The old stadium was brilliantly lit. I grabbed my purse and coat, though it was late.
No one bothered me, though there were others on the street.
There was no game in the stadium. No concert. It’d been shut down; everyone knew.
When I entered, I joined the silent group standing in the dusty center.
A giant disc appeared in the sky. My body disappeared, and I was looking down on an empty stadium. The lights went out. Only then did I try to scream, but it was too late. Maybe all will be well, I told myself. Hold on.
Why Haikus?
Lately, I’ve been writing a lot of haikus.
I’ve always enjoyed them–I like the simplicity of the form, the way you can let this small piece of poetry that packs a punch just digest for a moment. I love books of haikus and other short poetry, where you get some blank space to frame that little morsel so that your brain can feast without distraction. A few of my favorite sources for short poetry:
And then there’s writing them. I love the puzzle of trying to express something within the haiku’s parameters, deciding on words, line breaks, and images, without stepping outside the bounds of 5-7-5…unless I really decide that I should.
Since my little one came along, I’ve been writing more haikus (or poetry using haiku stanzas) than ever before. Why? It’s easier to compose haikus than longer works while the baby sleeps in my arms. I type with one hand so that I can avoid moving so much that she wakes up and cries. This is a huge advantage of the haiku. Expect to see more!
“Back” – Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers
This flash fiction story was written for Friday Fictioneers, the weekly prompt provided by Rochelle on her blog, Addicted to Purple. We get a photo for inspiration and no more than 100 words to tell a story. Be sure to visit Rochelle’s blog to take a worthwhile look into her world! Also, if you’d like to read more responses to this prompt, or if you’d like to add your own, click on the blue frog below.
Photo Prompt – copyright Roger Bultot
Back
(98 words)
That morning, I saw the birds on the wire and knew they’d seen what I’d missed: my father’s disappearance.
I used to imagine someone kidnapped him, and he’d escape and return…or I’d rescue him. Now, I know he must’ve willingly walked into the foggy ether. Did he look back? Probably. Most people would. But it doesn’t count unless you go back.
He’s in the waiting room now, to interview for a job. Will he recognize me?
In the end, I hire him. He thanks me.
I’m a masochist. Or a sadomasochist. We’ll both pay for what we’ve done.
A Poem for My Mom, on Mother’s Day
Sing “Tender Shepherd”
while the baby cuddles close,
trying not to sleep.
Remind her: there’s a
great green room, a telephone,
the cradle rocking.
There’s a moon up there,
whether we see it or not,
a sullen moon, who
longs for a nightgown,
who sails silently over
the town, smiling,
ready to hear “Good night.”
Spring
Branches fill with color,
Closing in gently around us,
Leaving gaps where the sky
Winks through.
See You
Have you ever said
a goodbye that didn’t feel
like goodbye? Strange comfort.
Unmapped Country within Us 