Sharing with The Sunday Muse #240, poetry in the midwinter pause.
Still angry at the bauble, the key to
the vanished door
Kept on a shelf as an inert memory, as dust-flavored time
No one said we kept possibility
just out of reach
At least of the less-brave
children, who never walked a shelf
Or touched a bone or glass or a universe
key
But still, somehow, were wiser for
their walk on this shore
Than I have been making this discovery
There is a not-insignificant part of me that would love to take this and make of it a novel in between the holidays, to create something out of that gorgeous painting. However, that may just be a brain freeze from standing in my stocking feet on the driveway while James strung Christmas lights over the front bed he'd just massacred and was feeling slightly guilty about. Sorry about the salvia. Have some Christmas lights. :)
-- Chrissa
Now, I wonder what is beyond that vanished door. So many possibilities with this image.
ReplyDeleteStill angry at the bauble,
ReplyDeletethe key to the vanished door
There obviously is a feeling of a let-down or even a disappointment of wanting to know what had happened. Good twist to the story with a mystery!
Hank
Chrissa, this is mesmerizing. I love the otherworldliness of it — great write my friend. Happy holiday, and all the best in 2023. 🙂✌🏼🕊❣️
ReplyDelete"as dust-flavored time" gorgeous image.
ReplyDeleteLuv your candy cane garden Chrissa
Much💌love
You all on a big and sad druggie high?
ReplyDeleteToo good otherwise to be true.
Thanks for peeking in on me.
a MERYY CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY NEW YEAR.
..
Your opening line is so captivating Chrissa! It would be cool for this to continue on in prose! I love your lights at the front door! Wishing you a lovely Holiday Season my friend!
ReplyDelete"Still angry at the bauble" - Great start, sets us up for the journey, the "wiser walk"
ReplyDeleteGreat opening that pulled me right in. I can see this moving along.
ReplyDelete