Sisters – a short story

I’m a published author. Go check it out. Trigger warning: contains domestic violence.

Sisters

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Humanity

Chin up, I stand
Defiant — daring life to knock me down

Shoulders squared, I persist
Unyielding — bending and swaying but never breaking

Weathering the cruelties of life, being — I live, I love, I am

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I am a weed

I am a weed

I have no fancy pedigree
No bloom named for a queen

I don’t dress in Sunday’s best
I don’t attend romance or sympathy

I have no complicated vocabulary
Or poems that herald my majesty

Instead, I am maligned; as
I push my way through cracks; and
Seek the sun; defiantly

I exist despite efforts to eradicate me

Inhabiting hostile terrain
I seek purchase in a world; inhospitable
I mimic the beauty and finery of those with a place in the garden

I exist despite efforts to define me

I know my own worth
I revel in my own beauty

I am a weed

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Rainy day

Rain paints the sky monochromatically
The sky lightens as the sun struggles to pierce the clouds
Mist shrouds the world

Writing challenge: 15 minutes, 1 topic.

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Hump day

Darkness envelopes the room as the autumn chill perfumes the air

Pulling the down-filled blanket closer I sigh and snuggle in not sure how much time has counted down on the mornings borrowed time

The ministrations of the others penetrate my cocoon as I slowly emerge

Not quite ready to face the day

Writing challenge: 15 minutes, 1 topic

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Nevermind

I wanted to call you this weekend

To tell you what the doctor said

You asked me to keep you posted and I didn’t want you to worry

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Flowers

The flowers mark the passage of time.

Slowly they fade and wilt in the vase on the table. Their decline reflected in the mirror at their backs.

It’s been two weeks since they arrived.

Slowly I’ve picked and plucked them as they discolored.

Discarded them as the leaves and petals grew lethargic before succumbing to their fate.

Until at last there is nothing left but the memories of fresh upturned faces and heady and intoxicating scents.

That should remind me of summer days but instead invoke the cloying scent of death.

I resent their impertinence.

The casual manner in which they inhabit my home

This morning, I threw the last of them away.

Writing challenge: 1 topic, 15 minutes.

Posted in Barbara Mulvey-Welsh, Death, Grief, Poetry, Writing Challenge | Leave a comment