Sunday, October 25, 2009

WWP 6: Excavation

When she left she told us to stay with you but we couldn't let her go so we shook and we shook and we shook off our skins and we left you bundled in them and we bounded after her, held together by muscle and sinew and love, following her into the cool arms of the night and the woods and the wind, shedding drops of blood behind us. We padded silently just outside the shallow puddle of light cast by her candle, gnashing our teeth at the things whose scents and secrets crept about on the clear night air. When she came to the pool she blew out her candle, smelling like snowdrops in her calm and her blindness, shed her pale blue gown, and stepped into the water. We who felt the wind whispering through our bones could not be any nakeder so we stepped in after her. We could not help but yelp at the cold water that rushed through our paws, but she did not scold us, just walked on reverently, and so we yipped and yarooed joyfully at her and the pale thin moon above her.

Soooo yeah. I wrote a paragraph this week. Way to go, Emma.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

You sing
I see the universe:

the vast darknesses of your notes,
punctuated with bright fiery fermatas
collapsing into black hole rests
when you breathe, pulling
me in closer, stretching
me thinner

at the
edge of your
event horizon


sing once more
and I
see the whole universe
but no light escapes you.

Still not satisfied with the ending. But oh well.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Possessions, Possessions - Writing Prompt No. 3

Before the flood, Margaret had been possessed of:
  • One (1) house, brick, of middling size, and assorted furnishings therein;
  • One (1) husband, a mildly prosperous merchant;
  • Sixteen (16) apple trees, planted in neat rows, raised one by one by her from cuttings from her mother;
  • Two (2) daughters, now grown and moved away;
  • Seven (7) dresses of which she was inordinately fond, and several others towards which her feelings were less enthusiastic;
  • One (1) bookcase, containing fifty-two (52) volumes, one for each week of the year;
  • Five (5) gold necklaces, three inherited, two new;
  • Five (5) coordinating bracelets;
  • And one (1) small yippy dog named Max.
Afterwards, she was possessed of:
  • The clothes she wore, including a green dress, which she liked moderately well, white silk stockings, several hairpins, and various undergarments;
  • One (1) black patent-leather shoe, the left;
  • One (1) purple silk fan;
  • One (1) wooden chair, to which she owed her life;
  • One (1) baby carraige, newly removed of dust;
  • And one (1) lemon.
I'm not sure if there's more. I feel like it might be complete.