When I first read the prompt, my mind immediately went to love poetry, not quite my mood today. The winds are fierce and I am practicing a little kitchen witchery with a chicken carcass. Naturally, I immediately thought of soup. I make soup like my Grandma made, boiling left-over bones down for stock. My kitchen (OK actually my whole house) smells divine on this blustery autumn day. On chilly windy days, we made soup and she would tell me the story of “Stone Soup” ah but that’s a tale for another day.
Soup – a meal in a can?
“Soup’s good for you”, she said vegetable, chicken or chili instead served piping hot with cheese and bread. Canned soups I simply can’t abide never knowing what may lurk inside too often thin, tasteless, and bland so I make my own whenever I can
In the forest’s dark shroud stood a wee, tiny house not home to a human, squirrel, or mouse where the fairies came to dance and to play they come out at twilight and at break of day
By the old oak whose bark is all twisted and curled in the dark of the glade lies the fairies’ small world by the light of the moon I glimpsed me a sight of a world half in shadow and half way in light
In the space between heartbeats in the moments between sleeping and waking in the pause between snowflakes drifting aimlessly there are galaxies of light and loss vast seas of cosmos for love to cross here in those unseen spaces here where life renews here for all eternity I will wait for you
I hope there are days when your coffee tastes like magic, your playlist makes you dance, strangers make you smile, and the night sky touches your soul. I hope there are days when you fall in love with being alive” ~Brooke Hampton Barefoot Five
Merril is our host at dVerse Poets Pub for prosery.
Prosery is a piece of short prose that includes a line from a poem. I will give you the line, and then you incorporate it into your prose piece. It can be either flash fiction, nonfiction, or creative nonfiction, but it must be prose, not a poem. And it must be no longer than 144 words, not including the title. It does not have to be exactly 144 words. Our prompt is:
“there is nothing behind the wall except a space where the wind whistles” from “Drawings By Children” by Lisel Mueller
She could still feel the ugly red pressure of the day it happened. The dull grey and orange of the sky, the torrent of air rupturing the early morning stillness like a sonic boom. The day the light died in his steel-grey eyes while he spoke the words that shattered her heart, her world, her soul.
It should have killed her. Pain like that should kill you instantly, like an arrow to the heart. But, alas, it did not. She pulled together the fragments of her shattered self and put them back together. Differently this time. Never again know the pain of love. She built a wall around her heart and to all who knew her, she seemed whole. But there is nothing behind the wall except a space where the wind whistles in hollow agony.
The night has come of ghostly wails when thin and thinner grows the veil deathly silence the loudest sound drifting far above the ground unfriendly spirits now abound whatever you do … don’t turn around