Archive for the ‘Creative Writing’ Category
Starting
.
open the door
step out into the predawn light
into the cold
into the calm, crisp, morning air
trod the well-worn path
upon the carpet of fallen leaves
trailing behind the dog
as she strains against the leash
in a frantic to-and-fro weave
tracking an invisible path
left by some nighttime prowler
passing beneath a large oak tree
that comes to life
at the start of a breeze
rustling the scattering of leaves
brown wrinkles of their former selves
that still hang in the branches
and will for the rest of the winter
suddenly begin to notice
the day is well under way
.
.
Swept
.
swept from our feet
by too many things
coming at us all at once
over and over again
in a riptide of situations
spasms of inclinations
untethered infestations
of allegoric absolutes
the wind carries colors
novel varieties of spectacular shades
that just happen
after so many days
and we watch with fascination
every year
around the same time
to get that feeling
of being swept
off our feet
again
.
.
.
Proximity
.
I remember when we used to hug
and shake hands
even though I can’t remember
the last time I did either
despite the best hopes
for some version of successfully eating out
it is getting harder
to visualize how restauranting
will ever again work for all participants
in some new form of normal
all from that invisible virus
that kills more people
than morgues have space for
while unknown numbers
present no symptoms at all
and we can’t tell who has it
from who already may have had it
from who will get it next
and masks scare some folks
while angering way too many others
and the earth doesn’t seem to notice
people are pandemic-ing to and fro
as it unleashes new hurricanes
fires, and tornado
and fire-tornados
as if everything was still normal
I remember when we didn’t worry
about shaking hands and giving hugs
but I really struggle trying to remember
what it was like
to be unconcerned about proximity
to everyone else
.
.
.
Relative Something 