A Weed on The Curb

 The following poem is based on Carrie's prompt to use the following words in your piece for the day: Property / Bizarre / Mercury / Melancholy / Indigo / Light / Languish / Purity / Thirst These are the properties of indigo: Long light opens earth to universe above mercury waves breathing soft, dreaming a bizarre, empty purity: Sand bereft of shadow or shell, Water quenching no thirst, Borders languishing void over void. Deep, noteless blue. Melancholy. Pierced. 

 Posting for The Sunday Muse #179. History floods up to the highway; cow pastures, empty towns. We skim them all. The turnoff that takes us deeper rises from a wave of asphalt that bends and crests and races to Austin. Dad reminds us again that we need to be careful. Pay attention. If the snakes or floorboards twist, run to the car. His brother is meeting us there, maybe. Other family might also. We launch ourselves into the dead leaves of the front lawn, waving at our uncle. Yelling away the highway. There are no other family members here, no other houses. A key is passed between brothers. Porch boards tested. We're told to stay in the yard. They don't want us to see old pipes leaking new stains. Greetings and salutations! Fall is running a teaser weekend here in Texas and we're all appreciating the outdoors rendered livable. And the early morning hummingbirds! I'm daydreaming about a small platform tent and napping outside and James is counting the days until he can g

  Posting in response to Carrie's bonus prompt "Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings."  Here are the threads of a dream, Catalogued at 5:55 am; before the alarm chimes: I saw Dabney Coleman in a shopping arcade In some district of Houston that doesn’t exist, Just as my husband avoided entering a store Full of clothbound books and menswear. I said nothing. I stopped to admire a necklace— A gold and pearl cross that echoed the silver one My mom had loaned me and I had broken In high school. Dabney and his wife (the lady from National Treasure , Tiny as a gymnast in dream life) asked the jeweler To make us open the outer door and greeted us. Then, asking us to wait, Dabney hurried off. I tried to explain the cross, our anniversary weekend, My mother’s call that there were too many people And we should skip breakfast in the city to his wife. I kept a mask crushed tight in my fist. I tried to explain the perfect pictures of a light Texas snow I was going to post later, the ones from

 For The Sunday Muse #178 , hosted by the ever amazing Shay. Truth is melting and I'm watching us drown There's a concrete lip; there's always an edge But I'm in the salt, in the water, in that gown We're both edge people, both lurkers, quiet So float the plate of appetizers gentle to me We'll watch the waters dine, toast their diet Maybe we'll find our edge, catch hold again Find our footing in this new damp dance Give the edge a final shove; kick into a spin  Clean these foundations by leaving them Learn to breathe by remembering to swim. This week my craft brain has been focused on the realization that you really shouldn't tell family members you have a room if they need it if you haven't actually cleaned that room out. Fortunately (for all of us?), those particular people have a holy horror of Houston and we were all spared an episode of "Everything in Plastic Tubs, NOW." On the other hand, there's something to be said for spending

  The cold front comes; the lizards hear the bells Swelling on the vine through their toes.  The cold front comes; the mint opens wells Dark, down to their spreading roots. The cold front comes; summer goes to dwell Deep, where seeds shed their coats.

 Just wanted to take a minute, as the temps in the morning brush into the upper 60's (for at least the next day or so), to celebrate my favorite summer candles and look forward to fall. I try to have a candle burning when I'm writing, especially during the summer when it's not as pleasant to spend long stretches outside.*  1.  Burnt Orange, by Wick Habit  2. Frog Princess, by Mort & Co. Candles 3. World-Building, by Novelly Yours 4. Suntan, by Bath&BodyWorks Looking at the list, it feels that I'm trying to make up for the past several months of staying home, trying to manage "the new normal" that has consisted of getting out less and less as, frankly, our governor abandoned the state to a continuing pandemic and made it more and more difficult to determine whether even going to a nearby park was a good idea, much less a mall. When you're receiving phone calls from major healthcare providers giving generic warnings about spikes in hospital usage, it

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #176 . One still before the aliens removed their makeup; They were always us, our future in Lycra and foundation, Our future already laser-fighting irrelevance.  There's always a store on the numbered exit Cold drinks, gas. Virginia packaged dry as the sand gritting your back teeth. It's always open. Even there, they have that still. Somewhere. Everyone sells that print. Or owns it. Or shudders, quick, Underneath it. They were always us.  If I keep it in my desk, cut carefully, the way you do At twelve, on a long afternoon hiding from the sun, hoping for  elves, not aliens...it's no less irrelevant. One still before.   So happy!!! Woke up this morning able to get up with minimal pain! And I think I discovered the stupid thing I did to torque my back into misery. Just wanted to share the relief. :)  -- Chrissa