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 |  my entries for the Construct Cup |
It's that time again. Time when I lose all sense of proportion and sanity and agree to write a poem a day following prompts exactly as given by our fearless leaders (aka Ren the Klutz!  and fyn  . I may not survive. But I will do it anyway, mostly because I can't imagine anyone having this much agony fun without me. Come join us! We have cookies. And possibly, straitjackets.
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| I was sixteen when she was born, a tiny thing, so easily cradled in the crook of my elbow, and I wanted to shield her, to stand between her and hurt. twenty-five years later . . . I think of her voice—clear and pure, and the way she moves effortlessly from one melody to the next as the phrase takes her, and I laugh as the song changes to where I cannot follow. I think of color— bright rainbows and wheels and dark landscapes, fireworks and flowers and shades and hues and permutations of color that my untrained eye can only glimpse as she points them out with artist’s fingers. I think of eyes. I see things differently knowing that the words that come so clearly to me are reduced to colors and shapes— words coming last to her, and I long for her world where other people's meaning is shadowed. I think of those hands, that laugh, the puzzled look she gives as she tries to understand a world that isn’t as honest as she needs it to be— and I want to shield her. but I can’t. she’s too tall to fit in my shadow anymore. line count: 40 Prompt 8 ▼ |
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