Microstories: Slippery

Tick 

A squalling newborn

Tock

I merely blinked

And the minutes have

Disintegrated,

Dust in my trembling hands.

The wind whisks all away

No matter how tightly I

Drip

Clench my fists around them.

Drop

When did my baby boy turn eight?

Microstories: The World Ends

Big, round, and RED, it sits sanctimoniously in the middle of the desk. 

As he angrily barks out orders to his minions, Gordon's fat fingers ache with need, to finally wipe the slate clean.

He is tired; he wants to go home.

Microstories: Post Op

Strange, alien tubes, heavy with fluid, pull at the skin where they are stitched into place. Each drop from the IV pushes me further into the mattress. My eyelids are cumbersome, closing once more. 

I gratefully fall back into the comforting darkness.

Microstories: A Momentary Thaw

As the lazy rays
of the sun
stretch and yawn
over the horizon,
slowly warming the sky,
the first drops
of my awareness
glisten in the light;
droplets of thought
now a trickle of memory.

Me.

Then I fall into the snow.

Get In My Belly!

Thick, juicy, quarter pound burger, pink in the center, covered in the sharpest cheddar? Right there on your plate, and you left the room! After so many months of chemotherapy, I found myself drooling and ravenous. 

No jury would ever convict me. 

Googly-Eyed Days

It was a googly-eyed day, Grandma said, her purple feather boa thrown carefree over one shoulder.

That meant a trip to town! 

Joyously, we kids piled higgly-piggly into the old red jalopy, ready to go. 

The rambunctious wolverine called shotgun,as usual.

Possible Trigger Warning

At first, I'm aware only of the slow spin of the ceiling fan, and a chill fluttering over my naked skin. 

But the pain pulls me awake, my head throbbing in time with the hurt between my legs.

What happened to me?

The Gourmand on Chemo

"How's that chicken lasagna?  My culinary masterpiece!"  Gerald exclaimed proudly

Yum...dessicated balsa, mashed into pulp, chewed by an irritated beaver, then passed through the digestive tract of an entire colony of suicidal termites...my brain lamented, but I smiled. 

"It's delicious!"

Microstories: Just Another Day

Laughing, I answer the ringing phone before my teenaged brother hogs the line.

An unexpected voice responds, scratchy, distant, feeble.

"Is your father home?"

 And I'm rooted where I stand, curled small in my head, my fear building far too many years.

Microstories: The Introvert's Choice

It's less dangerous
to retreat,
to withdraw,

to fold myself
into blessed
quiet,  
pad silently among
the ancient forests
in my mind

than it is to
have you sit near,
open my heart, and
breathlessly whisper

my desires,
my need,
for you.

Microstories: The Break Up

In the gloaming we sat,
hidden.

A goodbye tryst, he promised;

A last kiss in the twilight.

And so I leaned
into his darkness,
my lips parted.

In the gloom
his strong hands
gripped my neck...

He forgot that
I carry concealed.

Microstories: Black Widow

An attractive, well-kept
Beacon,

Nary a passerby
Can ignore
Or resist

That
Enticing
Aroma,
Delicious
Deceitful
Sustenance
Wafting wickedly
from the windows.

We all know
Who lives here, and
Still we enter.

And
Tightly bound,
We dream of escape
As we die.

Microstories: Voyage

It was only a kiss
at the doorstep
A taste of summer,
sweet
In the sudden stillness.


We left all we knew,
our fates forever
entwined.

So entangled
we drifted,
our eyes
beheld
infinity,
twinkling
spheres of gas,
the moon
deathly white.

Microstories: The Chemo General Store

IVs dripping
a staccato beat, 
my husband's restless foot,
Rustling paper movements,
Distant phones ringing,
muted chatter.
Nothing distracts
the other patients, and we listen
to Their Great Histories:

the Dallas Cowboys,
Union Pacific,
the Piney Woods.

The old days are calling.

Microstories: Temper Tantrum

Tiny
orange tendrils
unfurl from
my wronged belly,
coiling
spirals
that undulate
below
the surface
of my pale skin.
It doesn't ever
matter that
my own flesh
is burned,
or that the
conflagration
turns everything
to ashes. 
I become incandescent
with rage.

Microstories: Reunion

His grief stopped everything.

Pendulums, covered in opaque stillness,

Intricate gears rusted into grudging quiescence.

Yet

His heart keeps perfect time

The seconds always counting down,

Until she stands before him again,

her eyes radiant.

And he knows

The time is now.

Microstories: Not The Best Gift

I happily open
the gilded lid.
To my dismay
I find

Drummers, Pipers, and Lords,
Ladies and Maids,

Swans, Geese, and Golden Rings,
Calling Birds,  French Hens, Turtle Doves,

and a Partridge, all deceased. 

Someone forgot to put holes in the box.

Microstories: The Universal Remote

I dumped out
the toybox,
pulled kitchen drawers,
felt up the laundry,
trying to remember. 
I searched
underneath
the sleeping husband,
between 
the sticky cushions
of the couch,
the top of a
cluttered credenza. 
At last!
It was
in the freakin' fridge.

Microstories: The Wrong Door

In your eyes

I can believe

the

blush of true love

implicit in our first kiss;

Heartbeat to heartbeat,
A true marriage
Ageless
Laughter
and Love.

So much more

Than my fantasy

Will

Disintegrate,

Vanish,

If you open that locked door

Tonight.

Microstories: A Private Room Is Now Non-negotiable

I blearily glared at my morphine drip,

Prayed for a mute button.

Anything

to halt the noisy,

Nonstop

Nasally

Twang

Of the woman in next bed,

While

My useless headphones

Softly crooned that

Nobody told Lennon

About days like these

On repeat.