excerpt from my NaNoWriMo novel

         Sometimes I wake up and I find that I can’t remember the way my father looked when he smiled. Or I struggle to trace the outline of our apartment building in Brooklyn. I couldn’t tell you what the sky looked like when I got the news that my mother was gone. But to this day I can close my eyes and vividly see Pierre’s face, his tailored jeans and black turtleneck sweater on that winter evening in Sydney. I feel the soft sweater dress I was wearing and the pressure of his hand on my arm as he leaned in to greet me with a gentle kiss on the cheek. I remember the darkening sky held promise of a coming storm and the breeze had picked up. If I tilt my head I can hear his rich baritone voice reflecting on any number of things. Even if I wanted to, I can’t forget any moment of that night.

NaNoWriMo Bio

who am I?
the wind doth cry
to stop the lie
that I must die
and so I try
to cry fie
and paint the sky
so full of why
that when I die
my work will fly
and none deny
what I supply
does please the eye
with words thereby
and so farewell

skeleton

it's chilly here
the wind goes through
my defenses are down
I'm open to stares
I know they're laughing
children passing
as I stand
exposed
I'm rooted to the ground
wishing I could hide
sink into warm earth
but I'm bound still
forced to wait
'til Kingdom come

late on a friday night

the bus is crowded with awkward faces
but it's not the usual portland weirdness
the lady across the aisle looks like death
or something warmed over with blood
and a skeleton just walked by
the girl in front of me has lines on her face
not from age but makeup in cow shapes
some hipsters complete with flannel got on
oh wait, that's normal

maybe that zombie apocalypse happened
or maybe it's just the end of october

joyful angst

fall has wrapped his arms around the world

blowing fire on the maples

breathing a cold edge to soft breezes

on the corner the chestnut shakes

dropping spiked burs to the ground

inside each hides a savory fruit

when roasted over crackling flames

a taste of snow to come

i stand beneath the chestnut

feeling the warmth of the dying sun

whispers of cold nights on the wind

my heart is torn with love of fall

his pernicious kindness draws me in

fed by the harvest of summer’s death

chilled by the wasteland of winter’s hope

can i tear open prickly capsules

yet not bleed to find life-giving food?

if it costs me nothing

is it love?

it cannot rain today
the weather must stay dry
clouds won't come along
but i can't tell you why

there will be sun today
and skies of bluest blue
dark clouds will hide their face
when you come into view

and even birds will sing
although you may not hear
and i will smile as though
the weather's always clear

it cannot rain today
still i am whispering
the wind ignores my sigh
and all the leaves are turning

in vain i search the sky
for what may never be
the sun has gone away
til you return to me

story cont.

Outside the light dimmed a bit when a sudden clanging jerked her awake. Disoriented from the sudden noise and the strong medication, she sat still, willing her mind to focus on what was happening. Only her thumb twitched nervously. As the minutes ticked by she began to relax, “just a dream,” she muttered, but the words barely escaped her lips when the clanging repeated. That sounds like the blasted doorbell but who would dare? She struggle to her feet, clutching the end of the sofa until her vision solidified enough to shuffle across the floor. Painstakingly, her arthritic joints protesting, she unlatched both deadbolts, the knob lock, but left the security chain in place. Opening the door she squinted in the gathering twilight. 

“Hi,” a voice about waist level said. “My name is Dafydd. Like David but the Welsh way because my mom thought it was cool. What’s your name?”

“Go away.”

“That’s an odd name but ok. Ms Away, would you like some cookies?”

“No, brat. I didn’t say that was my name I told YOU to GO AWAY. So beat it. Where’s those idiot parents of yours anyway? I’d give them a piece of my mind for letting their son disturb an old woman.”

“Oh, sorry ma’am, I didn’t mean to disturb. I just wanted to share my cookies. I kind of don’t have a mom and dad, I mean, they’re dead. Long time ago. But my foster parents are super cool and Mama--that’s what I call my foster mom--helped me back cookies for people in the neighborhood and so I thought I’d bring you some even though she said you probably didn’t want any because everybody knows you don’t like people but I thought you don’t have to like people just cookies and so would you like some?”

She took a deep breath. “Um...”

“I knew it!” David said, “You do like cookies! They’re peanut butter chocolate chip, my favorite. I’ll just put them here on the table.”

And before she could respond he had brushed past her and walked toward the kitchen table keeping up a running monologue. How many years had it been since anyone had stepped into the house? She couldn’t remember but she felt her heart racing and that old sense of losing control coming back.

“It’s kind of dark in here, you should let in the setting sun. It’s super nice tonight, the breezes would help clean up the air. Do you keep it closed all the time? Kind of seems like it. Hey, are you like Miss Havisham? We just read that book in school and I thought of you because no one ever talks to you and you keep yourself shut up. But Mama said you were married once so I guess that’s not the same. But hey, I could be like Pip. Would you like me to come and visit every week? I have time because school is pretty easy and there aren’t too many kids that live in this neighborhood.”

Dafydd paused here and looked at her. He waited. She gripped the edge of the couch and said, “I don’t, I, I don’t, I mean I think, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why?”

How much is contained in a single word? All the whys came flooding back, all the reasons for shutting herself off, all the people who had failed her, and more deeply the people she had failed. 

“Because I’m a bitter dying old woman, kid, and you wouldn’t want to be around me.”

“It’s still Dafydd and everyone needs a friend. Please?”

She glared at him. Opening her mouth to say “No” she heard herself say, “Well, if you want maybe you could come around. Just once a week.”

“Great! Since you are getting old I can help out too. I like to help out!”

“Kid, I don’t need your help.”

“Well, maybe you don’t but your lawn does. I’ll bring the lawnmower next time and afterwards you can tell me some stories. Okeydoke, see you then!”

And without another word he was gone. She sat down, her breath coming in gasps, as if she’d just run a marathon. Before she could gather her thoughts the door opened and Dafydd’s head poked through.

“You never told me your name. What should I call you?”

“Ford. Ms. Ford.”

“Great. See you next Wednesday,” and the door shut again.