Kristen Williamson and the team at Streetlight Press have published my poem “Survivor” in the February issue. You can read it here.
The child presses her face against the window glass
watching as the sun sinks into the sea
and the first stars appear in the sky.
She makes a wish as one streaks, burns, and falls
vanishing like her neighbors.
(“Poor things,” her mother had said
seeing their yellow stars.)
She wonders if they will send her a postcard
from wherever they are,
and if she can change her wish–
to see them again,
the doctor with the kind eyes
and his daughters with their long, silver hair
who had played with her.
The child, older now, presses her face against the window glass
and watches the stars in the sky
the bombs silenced,
she hears a song murmured by the wind
singing to her of hope and dreams,
bittersweet, like chocolate she remembers,
she sees streams of starlight
sowing dreams in sparkling silver waves,
thinks of her long-ago wish
and knows—somehow– it will come true.
This is for Secret Keeper’s Weekly Writing Prompt. The prompt words were:
| APPEAR | PRESS | POOR | CARD | FALL |
I awaken in a clean bed, my curls still soap-and-water-damp, but no longer tangled with tears and sweat. Kind people have taken me in–giving me a home and a violin to replace the one Papa gave me years ago. The one the soldiers smashed. It is old, this violin, and as I cradle it under my chin, I wonder what secrets it carries beneath its varnished surface, what tunes lie buried within the fine wood. I look out the window to see the stars, fairy lights that twinkle and beckon in the dark. I quietly hum an old folk tune, the motif of the piece I’m writing, blending old and new–a continuous and repeated theme, as in life, a melody of sorrow and hope. And now, from my window, I see the dawn– pink, orange, and red wings feather-brushed across the sky above the golden sun. The day is bright with magic and possibility. I am ready to greet it.
The strings laugh and cry,
sing music of many souls
through light and dark clouds
life twinkles brightly, then blinks
to fly through space, dance through time
This haibun is for Colleen Chesebro’s weekly poetry challenge. The prompt words were fairy and magic. She is celebrated fairies and the summer solstice this weekend. Go visit her!
I was a carefree child who played in the warmth of the sun. But her glow and mine have dimmed. At night, after he has finished with me, the moon sends her light to comfort me. Cold comfort. Still, she guides me now, lighting a pearlescent path for me, tangled and silver like the scars that trace my body, but leading me to freedom. I’ve killed him, and though he took my innocence, he can no longer hurt me. My past, present, and future merge—who I was and who I will become. I am broken, but not destroyed. One day, I may glow again, like the sun.
The moon saw sorrow
her tears, silver waves of hope
to light the darkness
This haibun is a late entry for Colleen Chesebro’s weekly poetry challenge. The prompt words were past and future. Some of you know I’m working on two reference books on rape. So, this. Now back to work for me!
According to the UN Women web site, worldwide, 1 in 3 women experience physical or sexual violence, most often from an intimate partner.