Tag: #writing prompt

  • in this one, you’re…

    In this one, you are standing by the old canal at Holcolm Gardens. The sun has made your hair catch fire, the sun is coating your tanned legs and long arms with a honeyed light, and for some silly reason lost to me now, you are holding up a big red box of Cheetos, holding…

  • old patterns

    I’ve been a bit sick the last few days. Actually, I’ve felt really, really crappy, and unable to work until today. I felt both emotionally and physically ill. The anniversary of the election of the pussy-grabber, the unfolding exposure of so many #metoo stories, and the fact that there are still so many supporters &…

  • (short fiction) Heartshaped Vaguely heartshaped, that’s how you described her face, and I always imagined her—with my child’s-eye, literal imagining—as having a face the color of a pink valentine’s candy heart, a face with a pointy chin and also big eyes made of chocolate, because you said hers were brown and melty. That’s how I…

  • I am from

    I, too, am from a sift of lost faces from patterns I can’t untangle from an endless string of cats purring

  • back through time

    back through time I lumber back through time unrooted over boulders gap-eyed water glinting pink sunset unrooted I slide through mud into sand into lake stone wash hillsides caving in I am caving in all I have to hold onto all I can carry this basket, sweet-grass woven Inside is my pacifer rubbery round I…

  • a letter from my worry stone

    Another day, another prompt. Today I let my worry stone do the writing. Find something or choose someone, and let them write to you. See what happens. Dear E, Finally. I get to tell you my worries. About damn time. Our relationship, up until now, has been entirely one way. From that moment on the…

  • jump into the well of fear

    Prompt: Close your eyes. Breathe.  Name a fear you have. Breathe again. Now, write about where it lives in your body. 10 minutes, go:  My fear is not being understood by the people I love. This fear lives in the dungeon of my throat. It is the murky water at the bottom of a bottomless…

  • my phone case is an asshole

    My phone case is shiny plastic, scarred now from use. It is the color of a cartoon character’s eyes, the mischievous female sidekick with a heart of gold’s eyes, eyes that sparkle and pop out from the screen a bright teal-y blue not found in nature. The edges surrounding the black glass face of the…

  • someday I’ll love Elaine Olund (after Ocean Vuong/after Frank O’Hara/after Roger Reeves) Someday I’ll smile every time I bump into myself. Even when that self is a mess, an ooze, tears and unwashed hair undone tasks and hiccups and wrinkles and regrets that smell like Marlboro Lights and malt liquor And I’ll smile even when…

  • sunday sketch

    Sunday Morning: a sketch pillows play on the daybed housecat swishes her tail radio paints music chocolate-dark delicious as my espresso the Swedish horse with the broken leg assesses my mental state the coffee cup outlines the circle of its base onto the table my sandals inscribe lines on my feet, a loose sundress erases…