Speak

“Silence is not a natural environment for stories. They need words. Without them they grow pale, sicken and die. And then they haunt you.” ~ Diane Setterfield

 

Swallowed words
will rot;
the stillborn ideas
they wished to create
burst in the gut,
push up the throat 
(through heart and teeth),
poisoning all
within range…

infecting tongues,
which the silenced might love
or need—

speak.

 

photo by Ilyass SEDDOUG, on Unsplash

 - for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #74: The Act of Paying Attention.

Climbing Mango Trees in Skirts and Other Thoughts

not-quite Journaling, 51

Outside my window,
snowflakes polka dot New York
in a wintry shroud.
In my hearth, I fight frost’s bite
with inked feels and growing things.

3/14/2023: It’s is cold, windy, gloomy, and I don’t like it. But my books, plants, and the beef stew I made last night are wonderfully warming. So, there’s balance… sort of. How are things in your bit of the universe?

 

3/21/2023: Bits of the novel I’m working on are set in places that look and feel a lot like the Dominican Republic where I grew up until my mid-teens. The process has made me rather nostalgic… So, this prose poem came to mind.

 

I soar in the dark.

3/23/2023: Just a wee reminder for me, myself, and I (and you, too, if you want it or need it). 🖤🥰🖤

 

sun kisses
in a New York spring--
how lucky!

4/4/2023: Today would be a really good day to avoid New York City (the Orange Infection is scheduled to be arraigned in a Manhattan criminal court); the city will be a total mess. But I need a mammogram, and I refuse to let that… man change my routine. Besides, spring is springing, tomorrow is my birthday, and the sun is dancing kisses on my skin.

 

4/13/2023: I’ve had a ridiculously exhausting few weeks. But things are about to get back to my normal. I’m just one liver MRI and a visit to vascular medicine away from completing my yearly exams… until next year… damn.

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #72: Writing About Writing.