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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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| after the cradle and the room she’d decorated so hopefully in yellows and whites were reduced to boxes, still, at odd times something would jog her memory making her eyes burn her breath catch, her arms ache with the weight she would never hold— the dance of light over some random baby laughing at the air, the song of lullabies drifting near as she walked past the toy store, the ornament marked ‘Baby’s First Christmas’—bought in anticipation, before— slipping from her fingers, landing in shards on the floor, blurring in the flood from her heart, released again. line count: 24 Prompt 7 ▼ |
| white snow blankets all— bare trees promise "life returns, when we wake again." Prompt 6 ▼ |
| I’ll be home for Christmas— in my head these words sing with train rhythms as I sit and watch landscapes passing. mountain passes climbing through evergreens with first hints of snow. I take pictures through train windows and send to Mama so she can wonder with me. as we climb, snow grows thicker until grass is covered—distantly I see cattle, dark shapes placid, munching, with bales upon bales of hay piled nearby in preparation for later storms. two, four, six, eight inches deep—tracks are paralleled by wire fences to warn of avalanches, but surely daily trains prove our safety. through tunnels we climb past all hope of cell phone connection while rivers tumble by far below—water shaping mountains. finally we reach a tunnel so long, so high that at its end, snow falls— a faint glitter kissing mountain air I can barely see through train windows as we head down, out of winter towards Christmas and home. line count: 30 Prompt 5 ▼ |
| I came to life in a twisting, writhing coil, and I creaked with pain as I fought the hands turning simple boughs into beauty— until I caught a glimpse of me in the window pane. see me? I’m more than evergreen— I’m hidden berries poking unexpected red and the smell of pine and oranges and cinnamon. I’m a golden ribbon wrapped and tied into a bow that dwarfs your simple doorknob. I am magnificent. and as the snow catches on my needles, it gives me a coat of glitter you are unworthy to come home to. but I’ll let you in anyway, for the smile you give as you pass. line count: 28 Prompt4 ▼ |
| some people string lights until their houses glitter red and green and blue and purple and gold and white and their lawns erupt with blow up Santas and nativities and animatronic reindeer crashing into their roofs with a humorous kick of their hooves, and lightshows that blink in time with radio stations and wreaths centered in every window and door and I pass them on the street and gasp and stare. there is a house in town that I’ve appointed unofficial winner, whose house is as adorned as a parcel and as shining as a gingerbread castle, and everywhere I go, I find an excuse to pass that house so I can awe, before returning to my simple dwelling, where two strings of icicles welcome me from where they yawn over the upstairs windows giving my home a sleepy grandeur— eyelashes drifting shut. word count: 143 Prompt 3 ▼ |
| you lot are all total pumpkins! Cousin Emily shouted, and we looked around for signs of orange shells and general seediness, but all we saw were familiar faces—Uncle Andrew expressing temper until his ears turned tomato red, and Great-aunt Janaleigh smiling sweeter than maple syrup while thinking of something truly dreadful to say, and little Nikki swiping her finger clean, and so we nodded, agreeing, agreeable— which is why Emily started throwing things, we decided later as we toweled the leftovers away. line count: 18 Prompt 2 ▼ |
| at half past dawn, in the company of three thousand five hundred seventy-two strangers, I formed a line. it clumped and milled and stomped its feet like a herd of cattle, spooked. ready to stampede at the first sign of movement from the gate guarding glass doors. our breath curled patterns in the air our noses dripped. do you know how long it takes earwax to freeze? we do. line time lasts eternities. I personally witnessed three marriage proposals, a divorce, and the birth of a litter of Chihuahuas from the purse of a surprised woman, before dawn broke, and in its light we saw the metal rise. and we ran inside—a mad dash three thousand five hundred seventy-three strangers strong— our line breaking into individual spenders. and I felt its absence like an empty hand or a hunger . . . or a rush of melting earwax, so wrong. so terribly wrong. line count: 38 Prompt ▼ |
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