The firemen struggled to contain the BLAZE, the detectives were getting clear who was to BLAME for starting this wildfire.

Georg’ann

This morning early daffodils struggle to maintain their cheerful demeanor,
bracing against cold,
they bend their faces toward the earth.
Likely wishing they’d not been quite so eager to emerge.
They’ve gone beyond the POINT of return, not even given opportunity to come inside.
To stand in a vase cut, displaced yet still able to absorb water,
Spring scent wafting out of the SHADOW.

We both CRAVE a bit of sunlight,
that beckons us to reach up, to dance
in a warm breeze, fresh and dew kissed.
Who can BLAME us for folding in on ourselves,
we grew too soon,
into conditions too harsh.

Heather

The candle burned bright, the FLAME flickering ever so slightly. She lifted her tired feet up onto the bench, her ankles ROUND like little tree trunks. She didn’t understand the royal WRITS that had come and taken her men away – her father, her husband, her brothers. Yes her sisters were here, and Granny across the field, but still, she felt alone and vulnerable. Hadn’t the war taken enough from them? What more could the king want? Her hands rested on her belly, her GIRTH seeming as incomprehensible as those pieces of paper with their heavy seals that had taken the men away. She stared at the candle, trying to remember what the midwife had said about when to send for her. Leaning back against the wall, she tried to imagine what BIRTH would be like, but could not get past the ache in her feet and the heaviness in her belly. Maybe if she just closed her eyes for a minute, she could imagine getting up and tending to dinner. Her sisters would be home soon and they had things to discuss.

Georg’ann

Changing of the season
in the night an hour was taken
I need that hour, and more
the HOUSE is caving in on me
Every surface covered with life in motion
Laundry, bills, dishes, miscellany, and detritus
Outside daffodils buoyant yellow in the wet grey as snow falls
There is no CHAIN binding me
to task,
only my own inclinations toward order and beauty
The possibility exists to read something PITHY while sipping tea.
Or measure the WIDTH of that colorful African cloth
whose print is full of MIRTH
in hopes it will encircle my GIRTH
The season of BIRTH has arrived in all its bounty.
Given in exchange for only one hour taken in the night.

Heather

I am feeling a GLEAM of hope and not even this ridiculous, MEALY apple can ruin my morning: I have a chance to clear all of my unread EMAIL! Ring the bells! Pop open the champagne!

Georg’ann

Some places are always in SHADE,
light never penetrates,
nor emanates,
under the leather leaf viburnum,
in the far back corner.
BEADY eyes occasionally catch the reflection from the porch light.

Life exists in shadows.
Our eyes are unaccustomed to seeing.
What if we were to ENACT a law
in which darkness was mandatory
requiring different sensibilities
to develop?
Is it worth writing an EMAIL to the legislature
requesting respite from constant light
that we may discover new ways of seeing?

Heather

“Mama, can a MOUSE LEARN?” I pause, the large, somewhat tasteless BERRY in my hands. “Well, I suppose so, honey.” “I thought so! Thanks, Mama!” I turned and RELIT the stove. Oatmeal (with out-of-season strawberries and blueberries offering bursts of color if not flavor) will taste good on this chilly spring morning. But, my brain must have been as frozen as the pond, for it took far too long for my child’s question to sink in. The last time he asked me that kind of question, I was dismayed to find evidence of a homemade flea circus with real fleas. I might REVEL in his cleverness and curiosity, but I decided I better investigate why he wanted to know if mice could learn. Visions of a terrified, trapped house mouse being made to perform tricks began to form in my mind…and the silence from his room was beginning to feel ominous. So, turning the stove off, to prevent a breakfast disaster, I started down the hall, calling, “hey there, what are you up to?”

Georg’ann

Indeed!
Janine had FLAIR, and was a great story teller. My family always loved hearing tales of her WORLD travels over dinner. The only down side were her atrocious table manners, or lack there of. She was one to SLURP and splatter. Most tried to sit out of direct range. I, however, was a more than a wee bit envious of her in every sense and didn’t mind if my blouse bore sauce speckles for having drawn near. Her unrestrained joie de vivre was a quality I hadn’t been allowed, we were not ones to fully REVEL in all that life had to offer, only to enjoy it vicariously.

Heather

It was almost painful, to hear the PEARL earring fall into the vent in the bathroom floor. She looked down, dismayed at the amount of effort she will have to EXERT to fish it out. Pondering the question of WHERE on earth would she find a replacement for that earring, she realizes she has no choice but to try and retrieve it.

Georg’ann

Clear aqua WATER
Holds a WRECK underneath
WHERE history haunts

Heather

As she walks down the hall, the Queen paused to admire her reflection in the large silver PLATE. It was next to a portrait of an EARLY pretender to the throne. A slow smile spreads across her face, a look her courtiers knew and understood as a warning – this monarch had ways of knowing things that baffled even her enemies’ most accomplished spies. (While generally true that one should not RELAX around royalty, there was a ruthlessness to this Queen that seemed to go further than most.) Right now, in this moment, if you looked carefully enough, the way her finger reached out to touch the portrait was less REGAL than it was sinister. Were the rumors true? Had Her Majesty been involved in the Prince’s disappearance?

Georg’ann

Sitting in a sun filled courtyard lined with large potted palms sipping a ginger, beet, & berry smoothie, Raya began to settle after her long journey to this PLACE. While the literal distance was significant, it was the internal trip that most needed this afternoon pause. The background soundtrack played a funky groove – BABEL from people walking by and the chirps of little chicks out with their mother hen. An occasional whir of the blender or a barstool scrapping the tile added texture. Hanging above the prep station was a MEDAL commemorating a win for the Marching Barracudas and a photo pinned behind it of a beaming teenager looking REGAL in her sequined costume. Watching the barista I noted a facial resemblance and began to craft a story of this proud mama and her island girl. I’d arrived fully.

Heather

I stop before the faded photo in its cheap FRAME. Memories flood in: you, me, the waves, the rocks, the SHORE far below. Just beyond the edge of the photo, I stood, lightly holding the reins of my HORSE. You were preparing your fishing line, I was in love.

Georg’ann

Giggling VOICE can’t hush
Playful, her cheeks smeared with ROUGE
She rides pretend HORSE

Heather

There was a GREAT and delightful SOUND coming from the bushes- a FINCH, a sparrow, and a wren were singing loudly. Beautiful, hopeful sounds of spring. I continued my walk down the sidewalk, pausing just a moment, to enjoy the birds. But as we know, spring weather is fickle, and the wind began to pick up. My hair was tossed about, becoming simultaneously all KINKY and sticking out in many directions. I felt a chill from my head, down to my little PINKY toes. Oh, please tell me that is not snow coming down?!? Yet the birds continue, unfazed by the change.

Georg’ann

Inside my head thoughts fall, each like an ACORN hitting the roof.
Solid plunk followed by a quick skitter.
Mostly in the stillness of NIGHT.
In the morning they are gone,
as if stolen by a FIEND.
By now I should have learned to gather them when they land,
seal them in VINYL casing
lest the harvest goes to waste
as the sun turns the sky a PINKY coral

Heather

She READS out loud, hesitating at the unfamiliar words. “Sir Robert took the POSEY from her lily-white hands.” A frown cressed her brow. “Miss, what’s a posey?” “Why a bouquet of flowers. Now, keep going. And speak up, you are like a
little MOUSE, chittering about.” Miss turned and glared at the other small grubby faces looking up. “Silence. At least she is trying. The rest of you are like a herd of MOOSE, staring blankly at nothing.” Behind the teacher’s back, some of the braver children turned to each other, sticking tongues out and waving hands above their heads in what they imagined to be approximations of what a moose would look like and do. Throughout the rest of the lesson, there were little eruptions of tiny voices playing with the words “mouse” and “moose,” for despite the constant disapproval of Miss, they were a clever, sassy lot.
’tis my moose

Georg’ann

“FRESH flowers for sale” said the sign.
Shenae wondered if she’d have all the POISE of Miss Universe if she had a bouquet to carry. She’d been told all her life that she walked like a GOOSE on the LOOSE. It sometimes made her feel like putting her neck into a NOOSE. It was not only her gait that was ridiculed. Her long, broad face was sometimes compared to a MOOSE. This bothered her much less. These were intriguing creatures, majestic and goofy.

Heather

Lucy began to PLEAD, and it was effective. She could EMOTE with the best of them. The fact that she was begging for a little more, a smidge, a mere soupçon more, and that she did this every night… Well, even with that, I struggled to stand firm. Those beautiful brown eyes were awfully hard to resist. Finally I relent. “Okay, here you go, girl,” as I measured out an OUNCE of her favorite food. Being rewarded with vigorous tail wags and a few doggy kisses kept me smiling, even as I felt WORSE for having broken my promise to keep the old girl on a strict diet.

Georg’ann

Enter clear WATER
WHERE silence comes, turtles swim
this moment not WORSE

Heather

Today, along the QUIET, MISTY woods at the edge of the field, it was indeed NIFTY to be awake and see FIFTY sandhill cranes.

Georg’ann

What VALUE is this GRIND
nothing FISHY, change the view
Life after FIFTY

Heather

A sensual FEAST,
Nothing near me to ABHOR.
Beneath the ARBOR:
All this and more,
I am whole
And complete

Georg’ann

Sitting in a small island airport
Everywhere the signs
of destruction
of repair
Life lived in the midst

macro and micro cycles
throughout the WORLD
Every organism, all of time
SHORT distance between
RAZOR wire, ARMOR we wear
And the beauty of a jasmine covered ARBOR

You are in the middle of the cycle right now,
wandering the woods
maybe a bit lost,
You’ll find the way again.

May the path be lined with angels, small human kindnesses, and tender reminders that all is miraculous.

Heather

Thinking of you, traveling by PLANE, a bit more of an adventure these days. Wishing that I could WAIVE away all the obstacles, though I remain confident (not a vain or VAGUE hope at all!) that you will make the most of the situation. May this be all of the problems shoved into the first day and all is smooth sailing from here forward!

Georg’ann

Hurried to arrive at this PLACE
There was no need for HASTE
Ordered the DAUBE, hearty meat served with crusty bread, with some VAGUE notion of recreating my last night in Paris 30 some years ago.

Heather

As part of the PARTY planning, I was ROPED into overseeing the food. While at first a little frustrated (wasn’t I doing enough already?), I gradually accepted the task. In fact, I became so excited by the possibilities, that I began to pick up exotic fruits. My kitchen began to smell and look like a market in the tropics. Guavas set aside to RIPEN, star fruit and pineapple cheerfully occupying bowls on the counter. Papaya taking up space in the fridge and kiwis piled into the nooks and crannies of the produce drawer. I quickly became an expert in sorting out the merely RIPER fruits from the rotten ones. Soon even my dreams were pastel kaleidoscopes of fruit bowls, tropical cocktails, and fancy sorbets. What a joy to turn what started as a burden into a gleeful set of experiments. I was giddy with the possibilities!

Georg’ann

Like low rumbling thunder far off
a storm that may or may not arrive,
that was the SOUND of her GRIEF.
On the outskirts of perception coming along the banks of this slow moving RIVER.
Hands pushing persimmon pulp through the RICER,
sorrow won’t ever be RIPER.
Will the stringy bittersweet mass
be allowed to squish through fingers exploring,
to separate skin, seeds, and flesh.
Or will it be left alone to rot.

Heather

Sitting inside, looking out at the bare trees and morning sun, I long for spring. It feels as unreal as a DREAM, the possibility of sitting on the patio, having my morning coffee. But I know that soon, we will get out the ROUND table, position the chairs. I close my eyes, willing the weak February sun to be warmer than it is. Can I move just so in the stiff-backed dining room chair, move so that the sun creates a RUDDY glow for my closed eyes? Sigh. I settle for hands warmed by my mug of coffee, belly full of toast and marmalade. Soon, I promise myself, soon.

Georg’ann

The can be no DOUBT, the GUARD has changed for the IU women’s basketball program. The wins are non-stop, the seats are sold out. It’s glorious except for a RUDER fan base. Why is it that higher levels of success breeds an edgier scene. I conjecture that it is an increase in testosterone and youthful energies. No longer for families, it’s a student party. Even the male cheerleaders are on the court, where they’ve never been before. Winning and recognition entices men to take notice. They bring their beer, their RUDDY faces, and booming voices yelling distasteful taunts.

Heather

We PAUSE at the end of the street. No guidebooks had mentioned that we would have to go along this somewhat SEAMY street just behind the Gare St. Lazare. I mean, we were staying just above a XXX movie theater and “Miss Corsica” did live in our building. But still, this street was a little more edgy (at least for this part of Paris). We shrugged, walked a little faster, lest the group of men staring at a window would turn and stare at us. I told myself to relax, they were unlikely to STEAL my purse or anything. Besides, when have I ever let a little anxious SWEAT and uneasiness stand between me and a highly recommended cheese shop??

Georg’ann

Each time my daughter enters the HOUSE, she never fails to say something to the effect of “I love this house, its perfect”. In this appreciation my own devotion to it is reaffirmed. A small old house we moved into on her 16th birthday, it’s not even her true childhood home, the pace where we lived with her father.
Another mother and daughter lived here before us. I think houses have and hold energies. Our previous house, though it was a beautiful house, never felt like a home. It had a bad vibe despite our loving presence. We felt it was haunted and later learned someone had committed suicide in the garage. We still SPEAK of the garden sheers that flew across that space one afternoon.
But I digress from the more pressing matters of this day and the needs of the house. The bathroom ceiling is beginning to peel as a result of the constant STEAM. It will require a certain amount of honest SWEAT to repair. These are the sorts of mindless tasks that actually become mindful. Memories come, I become pensive in my wonderings about love, family, work, metaphor. The mundane maintenance becomes spiritual reflection.

Heather

“What the—” I reluctantly open one eye. “ugh, who is making that racket?” I roll out of bed, struggling to focus on the source of my abrupt awakening. A glance at the light and then the clock- good grief, it’s not quite 6 am. Through the window, an almost perfect FRAME for the scene, I spy two children. Deeply serious, as they POUND the telephone pole, nails spill from little fists, a hammer boldly if imperfectly wielded. “Hey, you, what are you doing?? Don’t you know what time it is?” Two pairs of eyes turn to meet mine. Two faces, STOIC beyond their years. Brothers, I am guessing. “We lost our kitty,” the somewhat taller one says, “we’re putting up a notice.” “Yeah!” The shorter, doubtless younger brother, chimes in. “it’s says we will give a re-ward if you find her.” They must be 7 and 5, I am guessing. “Very wise to put the notice on the community KIOSK, but did you have to do it
now? At this wretched hour? Alone? Where are your parents?” My words are not meant to sound harsh, but they must have done, because now two pairs of eyes are welling with tears, previously steady lips are now trembling. “Oh bloody hell,” I mutter. “Okay, let me get dressed and I’ll be right there, you can then tell me the whole story.”

Georg’ann

I often found my mother sitting
in the dark, so QUIET
her brown eyes ringed with circles, high cheeks
hollowed below the bone
she called the easy CHAIR “Mother”
vintage plush brown with faded buff flowers
two weary and worn women
one cradling the other as she twirled
black hair around her PINKY for hours on end
there’s a photo somewhere of me on her lap
fair and frightened, arms wrapped tightly
around my Raggedy Ann doll
companion purchased from a flea market KIOSK
tender girls sensing danger
ensnared by these haunted mothers

Heather

I succumb to your CHARM. I EXALT your beauty and grace. Behind the LOADS of laundry, the PLANK of the ironing board, I see a formidable and proud spirit. I QUAIL before you, oh Goddess of the home. You may pretend to be nothing, but to no AVAIL: without you, civilizations would crumble.

Georg’ann

OCEAN, a word too vast
for the morning write
Is that right?
It shall be revealed in the rite
The cat has come to GUARD the temple
A SHAFT of light across the table
Guiding me inward,
this is the call and response
of inner and outer landscapes
Noting the PLAYA within
double entendre
Dried basin dreaming
being lush with flirty prowess
as vast as the OCEAN
yet to no AVAIL

Heather

As she spoke, she straightened the collar on her burgundy wool coat. “I will not rest, Randolph – really will have no PEACE – until I CHASE down where Daddy put them.” Carefully, she smoothed the silk scarf, never once breaking eye contact with her luscious self in the mirror. “The lawyers can’t tell me – yet. But” (and here she turns round and finally faces her fiancé) “you will help me search the house. Top to bottom.” One step towards him, precisely calculated to narrow the space between them, just so. “We will uncover the CACHE of Mummy’s jewels, won’t we?” Randolph could feel every bit of his integrity and dignity – and God knows, there wasn’t a lot to begin with – melt away. He never could resist her careful, precisely calculated manipulations. All he could manage in the moment was a weak, strangled noise that Clarissa took for a “yes, darling, whatever you say, dear.”

Georg’ann

Janae wanted to RAISE her hand, she believed she’d written a decent FABLE yet she hesitated. Reading out loud always made her nervous. She had an excellent written vocabulary but was not confident in her pronunciation. She lived her life in books because there was no one with whom she could converse. She knew words by sight, not by sound and was confused by the inconsistencies of spoken language.
Yesterday she’d gotten a new book from the library. The cover was a velvety MATTE stock that felt so good in her hands. The tactile aspect of a book was as much a part of her pleasure as the content of the pages and the places they took her. The inspiration for her assignment had come from this new story.

Hers starts with a young coyote wrapping a few precious gems in GAUZE, forming a tidy bundle which she tucked into the NAPPE in the bluff along the river. Her CACHE would be safe until she returned.
Janae had delighted in her writing, she longed to share it with her classmates and knew she couldn’t. Maybe her teacher would read it out loud after grading it, and then she’d hear the lyrical cadence of her vocabulary, bringing new dimensions to her storytelling.

Heather

The ocean waves TEMPT me, with their MILKY white foam, their mottled blues and greens. My head pounds, my bones ache, my soul is weary. I have been pulled in too many directions, overwhelmed by urgency and disasters everywhere. Truly these are the siren songs of the 21st century driving me to MANIC, frantic activity. I look out, as if at a point in infinity. Let me take just one step — no, two, ten, twenty, a thousand — along the beach. Let the MAGIC, the healing properties of salt, sand, water release me. I yield to the paradox: the grounding provided by waves in perpetual motion and the soft shifting sands.

Georg’ann

We were sitting by the fire in a Mexican restaurant when my dad began to regale us with stories. He’s beyond BROKE, took the last of his STASH to buy a clean shirt at the thrift store for this dinner out with his daughters. We’re supposed to be discussing the housing situation, it’s an 18 month waitlist just to get on a waitlist. He’d expressed fear at how the streets had changed in the last 10 years and he didn’t think he was up to living back in the bushes at Pony Park. At 76 he was vulnerable, afraid. He let it show for a few brief minutes. Then ordered another Tecate and began to tell a childhood tale that involved a snake, a fire, and an ANVIL. It was hard to follow.

I think the snake slithered out from behind the FACIA in the basement where the furnace needed stoking. Very long story short, my dad got burned and the snake didn’t survive.

This was the Maritano storytelling MAGIC in action. I recorded it surreptitiously on my iPhone, another sliver of family lore captured around a dinner table.

Heather

Ah, such a TEASE! Pretending to be my PALSY-walsy when we SALSA!

Georg’ann

When the taxi stopped in front of the address, I was soothed to see that I would be living above a bakery. Nothing so comforting as the smell of warm BREAD wafting. A far cry from the old lady’s hair salon that used to be below my college apartment. The acrid stench of permanent solution was ever present, as were her watchful eyes. It was not the best time for a business trip abroad, but perhaps these weeks away might not be so bad after all, I could fill my yearly QUOTA of carbohydrates and butter in a single week, and I’d heard there might be a PLAZA nearby where they gave nightly SALSA lessons. Bread and dancing – two of my favorite things. Now if only a neighborhood cat would stroll by, maybe following a handsome gentleman who loved to dance…

Heather

I WOULD, if I could.
But the words won’t be FOUND,
no matter how my head spins ROUND.
Am I up or am I down? Will my ideas run aground?
Can I make your heart POUND
With my rhyme and SOUND?

Georg’ann

HEART feels unbound love
Her DOWNY cheek at my breast
Sleeping SOUND so sweet

Heather

Getting on the PLANE felt BRAVE. And Diana, despite her bold, huntress-goddess name was much more used to being the one to SKATE along the edge of danger, not boldly confront it. The decision to CHASE something she desired was driven by an unaccustomed urgency. She could feel a tug of war inside. Her well-worn patterns of shame and doubt wrestling with nascent abilities to assert, be confident, and strong. On this trip, her figuring out the USAGE of this new self could yield not just a happier state but also allow her to come into the family inheritance she deserved.

Georg’ann

This word TRAIN literally and figuratively taking me so many places.
This word appears and my mind becomes a station,
one of the big ones in Paris, tracks going everywhere all at once.
Which one will I jump on now?
Which one takes me to the sea
I’ve a yearning for salt air, a chance WHALE sighting just there off the cliff.

That cliff, oh no, invasive thoughts, too much
back up wrong train, try again.
Try the early morning train, the one that
leaves the west coast in the dark.
Days of playing cards in the dining car heading to Indiana.
SPADE played takes the winning hand.
Arrive in the dark picked up by strangers that are grandfather, cousin, aunt.

A different track takes me out to the highest trestle. Not much USAGE anymore,
chance sightings thrill.

For hundreds of lines I could continue to lay down train track memories.

Heather

Crossing the Piazza San Marco, I am focused on the BREAD I must buy. I dodge other shoppers along the twisting pathways, orienting myself by what CANAL is to my left, now my right. The acqua alta has not yet turned the city into a series of MOATS and lakes, THANK goodness. It will be a GIANT pain to do the simplest task then. As a new resident of the city, the anticipation of this annual event makes me question the wisdom of moving here, even as I rejoice daily in the beauty around me.

Georg’ann

It was not intended to FORGE a bond
When I met her desperation with tenderness
Gestures so simple
as picking up the phone
become as soothing as a mother’s hand gently stroking a child’s brow

In this way I leaned into loving a woman I didn’t like
she kept reaching for a woman she’d not kept in SIGHT

It’s not GIANT things from which we come into being
only tiny particles coming together

Heather

Giggles. We dissolved into giggles. There really was no other word for it. The more they asked for QUIET, the more we succumbed to that impulse, that bubbling up silliness.

The ridiculous PLUME adorning Aunt Bet’s hat was partly responsible. The knowledge that out of all of Aunt Bet’s BEAUX, she had chosen the mustachioed, pompous Colonel was also why. And that they had chosen this spot for the wedding, which they really should
REDUB “My Old Kentucky Home,” or perhaps “Tara” was another. And finally, that Mother had made us get out the fox furs (absolutely ancient)!!! And that we had to DEBUG them!!! Oh, Lordy!

And that last, Gentle Reader, is a secret that is to die with us all. But how were we to be silent in the face of all of this absurdity?? Especially with little fox faces looped around our necks?? Fox faces, mustaches, pomposity, plumes of feathers?? Giggles were really the kindest, and perhaps only sane responses.

Georg’ann

When the ROYAL brigade arrived we were not sure what to think, ours was a tiny, unassuming village. They tried to be inconspicuous, as if we’d not take notice. They’d ensured there was no SHINE on their shoes, they tried to mill about without falling into a QUEUE. Each wore quite a GETUP that they assumed made them blend, but only served to highlight that they didn’t belong. This was a top secret mission to DEBUG our communication systems. The enemy was watching, our town had become central to the conflict simply because it had no involvement whatsoever.

Heather

Is this a DREAM? Can this be real? A small house made of ADOBE, right at the edge of a WEALD. How is this even possible? I am further confused by the HEADY scent of lilies of the valley and lilacs. I suppose there is nothing to do but go up and knock on the door and discover who has built a mud house at the edge of a forest.

Georg’ann

Everyone had a GREAT time, even though you’re all likely to be suffering a wee bit this morning. I can’t BLAME you for your excessive consumption of PEACH flavored brandy. It was a crowd favorite. Thankfully for me that cocktail was too HEAVY. A HEADY concoction I couldn’t stomach.

Heather

My FLAME once burned bright. Accolades were many, and for a long time, regrets were few. Yet, now, knowing what I know about how quickly time moves and how much we can lose, I would TRADE those moments in the light for more time with you. I know you did not begrudge me my time upon the public STAGE, a time when you were forced to share me with the community. But still, I will be plagued forever with doubts and questions of what could have been.

Georg’ann

Inside all is still, peaceful and warm
Outside rain and wind beat at the windows
I don’t want to get out of my cover nest QUITE yet
Though the cat has already left, signaling just how late it is
She’ll be waiting by her bowl,
Yesterday I should have gone to the STORE
the last bit of the bread is STALE and barely milk for my coffee.
we have plenty we don’t live close to the margin
Our supplies are short
only because I choose so.
Just as today its a choice
to be late, nothing is at STAKE
a few blocks away, the house where I lived once as a child
a house where there was no warmth or food.
And yet still more than the man who is right now sleeping on the STAGE of the park between that house and this home.
The rain on his roof plays a different song

Heather

“I have the RIGHT to be here,” she muttered angrily, taking a SWIPE with the cleaning rag. “No matter what that old hag says.” The shelf shook slightly and the ancient Persian bowl (mother of pearl INLAY, of course) rocked in response. “Oh no you don’t!” A quick but careful stabilizing of the bowl. She glanced over at the desk, where Lord Hardwick was sorting through estate papers. Sigh of relief. He seemed oblivious to the under parlour maid. Her hand shook slightly as she continued to dust. She could not risk allowing a CLAIM of carelessness against her. She did not want to be sent back to the farm where she would have to FLAIL in the fields, sunup to sundown, 7 days a week, threshing grain.

Georg’ann

Getting ready to shower, Siobhan began to RAISE her arms, lifting her PLAID shirt overhead, rather than unbuttoning it, she was distracted by a BLAIN under her left armpit. Lately she’d been noting the hard pea sized lump, wondering if it would erupt or subside. She pinched, pushed, poked, and squeezed it. The result was irritation and redness without any change in the bump. After a bit she gave up her prodding and entered the cascade of warm water.
Her mother used to CLAIM that a hot shower was one of life’s greatest pleasures. As she stood enjoying the sensation of her hands rubbing herbal scented foaming gel along the long stretches of her limbs and into the nooks and crannies, out of the corner of her eye she saw a GLAIK and wondered if there’d be a good storm. She liked the thought of pouring a bit from the FLASK and sitting by the wood stove, glancing up at her great grandfather’s FLAIL. Coming to the family cabin for a solo retreat had been a wise decision.

Heather

It’s the QUIET part of the day. I sit, idle at last. Enjoying dessert, a thin sliver of pie, I trace patterns in the CREAM, a wobbly white canvas sitting atop the crust. I allow my mind to drift. Indeed, I am so tired of intentional, purposeful thinking, I have done enough of that today. Pushing aside the pie for the moment, I Take out my notebook and begin to doodle: a flower, a seashell, a WHALE, an illustration of a FABLE not yet written. Pleased and restored, I take a last bite of APPLE pie and head up to bed, ready at last for sleep.

Georg’ann

Almost threw in the TOWEL,
the day was not so CLEAR,
time and thoughts particularly LEAKY.
Felt a bit scattered, noting as I rushed out the door that my preference for SABLE colored clothes means no matter how AGILE I move, being constantly covered in orange cat fur threatens to ADDLE my sense of polish and poise.

(I didn’t get it – no APPLE in my eye)
Heather

To CLEAR oneself of a psychic WOUND, a spell for experienced witches. At NIGHT on the NINTH day after the injury to your soul, at the ninth hour, take nine springs of rosemary, wrapped in holy basil leaves, with one tiny bit of frankincense. Dig a small hole with nine strokes, place the herb bundle in the hole, and cover it saying “heart heal /heart whole /heart seal / mend soul.” Best done under a linden or hawthorne tree

Georg’ann

Preparing for an evening at Dodger’s Stadium, we swing by Trader Joe’s and pick up a POUND of chocolate covered almonds, which we will attempt to SNEAK past the gate guards. It is our hope that the slow moving, cane carrying, multiple jacket wearing gentleman among us will be shooed along without much notice. At the checkout I grab a tin of breath fresheners for a MINTY pick me up, and off we go. The traffic is a disaster, the venue immense. By the time we get settled in our seats it’s already the bottom of the NINTH.

Heather

Weirdly, I find it a TREAT to ARGUE with you, my love. Those moments of tension have been a vital contribution to the SHAPE of our love. We have forged this thick, durable CABLE, sometimes heavy as iron, at others light and slippery as silk, yet always strong and tying us together. Happy Valentine’s Day. I am so glad to be in this DANCE with you.

Georg’ann

When you REACH beyond
limiting notions of self
seek a PLACE to DANCE

Heather

Moving ABOUT in the QUIET, trying not to wake anyone, I open drawers and cabinets. I woke up with much to ponder, and realized that I am restless, hungry, awake. Uncertain if my hunger is physical or emotional, I settle on some FRUIT. Going through the motions, I rinse berries in the UNLIT kitchen. Poking around in the fridge, seeing if anything else sounds good, I can feel myself already relaxing, my mind letting go of fretful tensions.

Georg’ann

When buying a FRESH bouquet at the market
I often think of myself as Mrs. Dalloway
being sent out by Virginia Woolf
to get flowers for the party
Walking in the back door
Packages in hand, a QUICK glance
toward the bodacious apricot LUPIN
Not long UNTIL she’ll fade
my garden is not well tended
the perennials are as ephemeral
as if the’d already been cut
death in process, even as they give me such delight
With ease the match brings light to the UNLIT taper

Heather

He sang ALOUD to the EMPTY room, “What kinda CHICK would SHIRK her duty? / Flee her town and …” He shook his head. It just doesn’t work. Sighing, he sat at a desk, pulling his backpack over. The classroom would fill soon, as the buses started arriving. He was frantic to get this song done before fifth period. He was desperate, nervous, all the things that go with trying out to be in a band. Pulling out his notebook and his cassette player, he got ready to try one more time to write the song, the one that would get him in.

Georg’ann

I like to look at public bulletin boards
crowded with PRINT media
Behind each FLIER is a story
Something lost among invitation to something new
Stories filled with promise, hope, opportunities
Buttons, the lost grey tabby has been tacked over the one for the Moon Women ritual group.
Surely by now the apartment has been sublet, it’s covered in pin pricks from all the things placed after, the edges tattered
The Ryder film showings are from last month, the new one hasn’t been posted
did someone SHIRK responsibility?
I begin to weave a narrative
from the details on, or left off, this familiar wall

Heather