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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ten months old. she spent the season exploring the house— discovering paper and ribbons, toys hidden in the corners where Mama had stowed them for Santa’s approval. she could climb and adored the new game called unwrapping, tearing with little fingers and draping herself in glittering remnants, while Mama sighed and wrapped again, trying to find some new hiding place. Christmas dawned. all the packages gathered together under the tree, but she wailed, not exploring, growing heavier and hotter. the only package opened was a plush ghost with a musical center, that she held, cuddling close to Mama, fevered and miserable, while Mama sighed, disappointed, and saved the presents for tomorrow, when she was well again. line count: 30 Prompt 12 ▼ |