Good Intentions

In the first few weeks after I met you,
you formed the habit of placing your hand
on the back of my neck
while I drove.

I thought it cute.

You were addictive
in your senseless charm
and I was a careless heart,
struggling to keep time
with the beat.

Decidedly, the tempo increased
and the knuckles scraped
a tap-dance slide
across concave cheekbones,
stark and thinned
by my hungering smile.

I thought to terminate the dance.

I thought to notify you of my intentions.

I thought to step back from passions raised
and push my narrow chin in the air,
to settle my shoulders back
and stiff as rigor mortis
my words would fall
and in their strength
would not break as they hit the ground.

Instead, you showed me the weakness of my spine
and your hand on my neck
tightened its grip
and my words fell hollow in the squeeze.

I watched them shatter,
as only sparkling good intentions can do.

© Laura A. Lord, 2016


Sometimes thoughts drift to darker times. Regardless, I am thankful to MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie for their wordle prompt this week.

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Photography by Jairo Alzate, Unsplash

 

Snow Race

The sun lit a glare on the snow
like daybreak had suddenly opened in the field
and a new sun was rising beneath
the deer tracks and branches heavy
with the irregular garland of ice.

You lurked at my periphery,
just enough out of the way that I had to
adjust to see you clearly.

It seemed the structure –
the baseline of you and of me –
had slowly been falling apart.

We were degrading as the
foundation of this house.

We were slipping concrete blocks
and creeping marshland.

We were winter snows
and bare feet, and you said,
“I’ll race you to the barn.”

I remember the thin slide
of my t-shirt and the way the cold air
terrorized my flesh.

There was a glint in your eyes,
something wild that sparkled,
and with each discarded piece of clothing
we were bare to one another
for the first time
in a long time.

And I think then, you saw me –

racing across the snow,
my bare feet leaving dark little
tattoos across the perfect crust –

I think you saw me and I know,
for a while,
I forgot all about us.

© Laura A. Lord, 2016


There are bright moments in any ending. Yesterday we told our children the truth about my husband adopting them. We told them about their birth fathers, and it was, by far, the most difficult discussion of my life. This brought back so many memories, especially about how things ended. I remember this day in the snow and thank MindLoveMiserysMenagerie for her wordle that inspired me to think of this.

Photo by Roksolana Zasiadko, Unsplash

Photo Design by Book Genesis


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Dancer

 

You are the delicate fuchsia flower –
a tempestuous dancer frozen in the middle
of a lustrous pirouette. I found myself
stargazing in the deep purple of
your petals, as if I were watching
for Orion to slip over the knoll
and appear, there, in the soft skin
of your eyelids, closed in fraudulent
sleep. I traced the sunlight, bright
and thick as yolk, as it draped along
your leg. I passed the stain of your
birth, there, at the back of your knee
and minded the flutter your
lashes made. Your breath stuttered,
in spite of your control and I gave myself
up to your kiss – a slow drip of laudanum
that numbed my lips and set you
to dancing, again.

© Laura A. Lord, 2016


All things considered, I never dated a dancer. I did have a very passionate fling with a gymnast, but it burnt out quickly. Thank you to MindLoveMiserysMenagerie for the wordle prompt that inspired some memories this morning.

Photo by Matthew Wiebe, Unsplash

Design by Book Genesis

Amnesia

I was lost in the apathy of a broken heart,
the disloyalty of dreams that had been
drug mercilessly through the sharp,
splintered edges of a fake romance.
I held animosity close to my chest,
covering myself in the lie that was fear
and cowardice. I courted misery
as if somewhere in the depths of
his indifference I would find hope.
I dressed myself up in swaths of
optimism and met the stare of disdain
with a heart coarsened by hatred.
I searched for endless hours through
the rubble of my faith and staggered
across the first moment I saw him –
the thick sprawl of his lashes
against storm blue eyes and
a smile that sent a lurch through me,
knocking me to my knees.
I remembered how love tasted of
his breath and forced amnesia
for our fragmented love. I forgot it all
and loved him anyway.

© Laura A. Lord, 2016


Written in response to the prompt at The Reverie Journal.

I Will Ask

I find that I can be irrevocably human with you,
that in the sharp darkness of my soul,
I have made room for your light.
I have allowed the clouds to shift and fade,
have clawed out in desperation against the skies,
twisting in the downpour of adversary…
I have drawn out the irrelevant fears,
snipped them tight as a deadened nerve,
eliciting bright hibiscus blooms of paranoia and chaos.
I ask only that you love me in the darkness,
that you find beauty in my shaded bloom, and that
all of my broken pieces will be held tenderly in your arms.
I will not ask you to stitch me back together.
I will not be your doll.
I will only ask you to love me in the darkness.
I will only ask for your love.


Written in response to the wordle prompt at MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie and the prompt given by The Reverie Journal.

Little Deaths

Your fingers slid down my spine.
Four demanding, nocturnal snakes
slithering in the darkness.
Madly dashing for the little gilt knob at my base.
There, you could trip the switch and
turn me on. And I would sing. I would sing, and
sing the omen of little deaths to come.

© Laura A. Lord, 2016


Written for the prompts over at An Artist at Heart, Uncharted, and Three Word Wednesday.

An Artist at Heart: Miniature Writing Challenge – Music

Uncharted: Six Sentence Stories – Trip

Three Word Wednesday: Week 463 – Madly, Nocturnal, Omen

 

Scattered

I loved you in the darkest of night.
And somehow I expected the imperfect light
of the moon’s crooked smile
to light me up like daybreak.
But you were a lame sunrise.
You were a harrowing curve
and I was scattered as broken glass.
I was scattered as change spilled from your hand,
rolled across the hard, tiled floor.
I was a head’s down penny
and my copper had lost its luster,
so that even then,
in my weakest moments,
I was not worth the effort
to bend.

© Laura A. Lord, 2016


Thank you to Uncharted for their Six Sentence Story prompt  “change,” and to Three Word Wednesday for their prompt words: imperfect, harrowing, and lame.

The Beach

He woke up alone on the shore of an unfamiliar beach and
watched as the waves crashed down
like the thin, translucent skin of her eyelids.
White caps were salty, tear-stained lashes and
he laid his cheek against the smooth sand,
let them caress his face. His fingers dug
through each grainy strand and
he knew then, that he knew her well.

And when the waves receded,
pulled back from his touch to fill the void,
she screamed out –
so loud and long and low,
that for a moment
she simply disappeared and
all the was left in the space she had been
was the sound of her agony and
the salt stuck to his skin.

© Laura A. Lord, 2016


Thank you to the Miniature Writing Challenge for their prompt: “He woke up alone on the shore of an unfamiliar beach…”

Skeleton Dance

I am ready to spill my skeletons,
open the door to the proverbial closet
and watch them perform an irreverent
skitter-dance across our bedroom carpet.
They will two-step in the moonlight
shining in jagged strips through the
wire screen against our window pane.
They will sing a false swan song
with lipless mouths and bones that
rattle as change in your pockets.
They will twist up on one another,
like a bow around a present,
and I’m giving you this gift,
because it is no longer possible
to keep them in my head.
I am dragging them out from under
the piles of old neglected things
that hinder our ability to speak freely
and humiliate what is left of our love.
I am giving you faceless truths
and praying that the melody of our past
is enough to string us back together.

©Laura A. Lord, 2016


Thank you to MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie and The Sunday Whirl for their wordle prompts.

Sunrise

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Creative Commons

The bright light of morning crept through the cracks in our curtains,
shattered across your skin in an astonished display
that outlined the deep blue of your nightgown.
It broke a pattern of light and shadow across your face,
and I let my fingers wander to the lacy edge
draped along your thigh.
Morning’s red rose lips kissed the snow white skin,
there, on the soft spot at your wrist.
For a brief moment, before the light slid heavy and thick
up to completely illuminate your sleeping eyes,
I found myself afraid.
Afraid of what the night had left, scattered about my bed.
Afraid of what the light had shown;
and that somehow it would disappear.

© Laura A. Lord, 2015


This time of year makes me think so much of people who are no longer with me. I remember this woman, from entirely too many years ago. It didn’t last long, but I always wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t been so afraid of commitment back then. She was beautiful…


Thank you to Six Sentence Stories and Three Word Wednesday for their prompts this week!

Joyous

I asked again; she said yes.


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Creative Commons: Party Popper

 

The holidays always make me think of my grandparents. When I saw the prompt for the Sometimes Steller Storyteller Six Word Story Challenge (that’s a mouthful) my mind immediately went to their 50th wedding anniversary. Now, as an adult, I can recognize that there was little happy about that event. But that comes with knowing the backstory I wasn’t privy to then. I was young, and to me, it was a joyous occasion.

I wanted that kind of love – the kind that could make a woman say yes again to her husband, even after 50 years.


A big thank you to Sometimes Stellar Storyteller for the prompt Joyous, and please, dear readers, know that this contest’s winner is chosen by “likes” generated on the comment on the original post. I am linking my six sentence story here, if you’d be so kind as it give it a like, and check out the other amazing entries. Thank you.