the waiting place

He flicked a cigarette ash into a Starbucks cup and looked up into the approximate area he believed I would understand to be my eyes. I didn't get to say everything, he rasped.

No one does, I said,but If you did get the opportunity how would you punctuate that last breath of yours?

My cup's on fire, dude.

Oh. Are you trying to be profound?

No, it was really on fire there for a second,

but now it's out.

I watched it happen.

Rene ~ 2013

Comments

blown

to know each breath that creates such covetous bliss that’s my joy, my private treasure

she's still not over the fact that she is under the ground she speaks in rattly, clattery hissing voices whenever they come around "I'll reach right up and turn your ankles you unforgivable gits, for burying me, prematurely, over a spell of the coughing fits" so angry with her new residence and bored a deeper shade of blue she's knocked over her marble marker and broken it clean in two. Boo! ~ Rene 2010 To join Magpie Tales click HERE For another take on this magpie please check out "The Song Of The Stone Healer"

waiting for the boss

this is the story of a girl who lived in the basement of the girl next door sheltered in the confines of a suburban tract house dungeon; her punishment for runnin' wild with dreams half unlatched she ran like a spirit in the night from those badlands wind blowin' through her hair shielding her eyes from the blinding light she hugged onto a shoreline of hope someday soon, she's not sure when her savior will rise up from the streets with an armload of rain soaked roses and second chances Rene ~ 2010 Click Here to join Magpie Tales creative writing group .

Not The Rockefellers

Search This Blog