Stephen

A gloom settles in splinters, flying through the transparent air and rustling the dust that covered everything. Words kneel on the soft, green carpet caress by dull sunlight. The morning has lost its pleasantness. The wet sun sticks to the day trippers dressed in black as they wander through the old home. Silver gray chairs scatter all over the place laying bare.

Stephen moves gingerly through the crowd but could not get anyone's attention. Their sad faces never changes. They continue their movement, never ceding to stop. Stephen's dark curls fall into his eyes as he watch the people dressed all in black moving back and fourth. His feet cased in black loafers make small prints on the carpet, carrying sun dust underneath his soles. He calls to them but his voice falls and absorb by the thick carpet as if he had never spoken at all. His eyes linger on large hands that are holding plates of food. He shift here and there to get a better view. Voices mingle together in harmony with no one voice outranking the other.

Stephen shrugs his shoulders and turns his heels a 180 down the hall. His small fingers trace the rough texture of the gray wall. Turning the corner, he hears whispers going in and out. He continues to walk, ignoring the voices. A few more steps lands him in the brightly-lit kitchen. Unwashed dishes pile high in the sink. Bright lights bounce off the tip of the upside down white coffee mug that sits at the top of the pile. Stephen turns his eyes to the white fridge. He pulls the silver handle with all his strength. Inside, food of every kind conjugated together like twin siblings. He reach out to the bowl of maroon cherries but move his hand toward the green grapes. He finger a small one and pops it into his mouth. The sour-sweet taste surprised his tongue. But he liked it. He slowly close the fridge.

He leaps onto a charcoal gray chair and pull out a red crayon from jacket pocket. He starts to draw a tugboat on the white table top. It wobbles as he press down on it. A giggle slip pass his peach lips. He look under the table at the legs. One of them is bounced on a thin novel. He finish his drawing anyway. He place the crayon back into his pocket with a small smile on his face.

An itch on his head urge him to comb through his hair, crumpling it. Looking up he saw a large plant above the cabinet. Its yellow and green vines scattered about, almost covering half the cabinets that line the kitchen wall. He reach out and pull a leaf down to him and stare at the detail of the blade. A voice shouts his name. He let the leaf slip from his hand.

He turn around but saw no one. Unconsciously, he place his thumb into his mouth. He stands very still near the doorway as the shouting continue but he cannot see anyone. He hears things being shuffle behind him but no one comes into the kitchen. Finally the voices fade. Stephen tilt his head a bit to look out through the kitchen doorway. The halls are empty. Stephen let his thumb fall from his mouth. He wished he wasn't such a baby. So many things scares him.

Stephen slowly walk out of the kitchen as quietly as he possibly can. In the hallway, he collide into a soft wall. It's Amanda, his older sister. He looks up to her chubby cheeks and stern eyes which suddenly turns pleasant. "There you are, Stephen. Daddy's looking all over for you. Time to go home." She grabs his left hand and nearly drags him with her.

On the front porch, Amanda opens a large black umbrella that is twice as big as Stephen. She grabs Stephen's hand and walks him down the short flight of stairs. The light rain sprinkles down in crystal bits. Stephen turns around to see more black umbrellas being open.

In the car, Stephen stare at the golden retriever in the yellow dog house. Rain falls on his golden fur but he barely move. Slowly the dog closes his eyes and move inside, away from Stephen's eyes. Stephen wants to jump out of the car and run to the dog to give him a hug. Just when he turns the handle on the car door, it starts to move. Amanda chats casually with their father about the state of the house and how awful it was to be there. Stephen pays no attention. He continues to stare at the dog house until the yellow tip disappears behind a fence.


3WW: Gloom, Kneel, Transparent

Dreaming in French

his body tangled in winter
slow innocence staggers out
the sun hides behind the shade
his mind unhinged
he continues
dreaming in french

Knocking on moonlit walls

the night leans so slowly
knocking on moonlit walls
unwilling to let the day begin
I wonder out loud
"is there anybody there?"
my words decide to echo me
covering me like a twister
I hear the wind rushing to the ocean
blowing debris through my window
it leaves trickles of cool air on my skin
time shift as I wait for the sun


Carry On Tuesday - the opening lines of the poem The Listeners by Walter de la Mare
"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door

Softy She Leaves

softly she leaves
pennies on the yellow dresser
daisies on the window sill

she hides
in a corner witnessing darkness
sunshine nipping at her toes

the sun kills her bruised heart
the day easily rip away by the passing wind

she remembers
the nights of keeping still
running down halls with half-shadows
her bare legs shaking underneath feathered cotton
moonlight taking in all her fears

she unlocks the door
quietly she takes a step
away from the ledge of broken street

she leaves
ever so softly