she is like a penny, face up, begging to be lifted from the asphalt, treasure promised if I dare give her a moment’s thought, a hint of blush dusts her cheeks, eyes, dark, translucent blue, cerulean really, that pierce my soul, first glance, drawing me deeper… she likes shadowy places, nooks, crannies, pre-dawn and gloaming, alcoves and hollows, her scent is musk, with undertones of moss, earth and ink waiting for the quill’s long, lingering dip, pale skin like velvet, cool to the touch, covered in baby fine hair that glistens in the light, her hair, fiery red, long, wavy, cascading softly past her shoulders… she is not the life of the party, but her words, softly spoken, draw select clusters of seekers, like me, who have grown to appreciate her wisdom and honesty…fools vex her…she has been known to slay them with a single line, but mostly she ignores them, pearls and swine, you know, for those of us who are privileged to call her friend, to see the world through her eyes is like peeking through a forbidden keyhole, Valhalla waiting on the other side
a legacy of poverty means that even in times
of plenty, one cannot quench the urge to fill
cupboards with rows of non-perishables, that
will ultimately collect dust, but they are there,
just in case; there’s a propensity to buy two
of everything, to maintain double locks on
doors, to install shades and opaque curtains
to keep the outside, out; to have the car
loaded always with no less than half a tank,
blankets, rations, loose change, because one
never knows; all while obsessing over bank
account balances, due dates, a daily ritual,
a masochistic exercise, of checking dwindling
numbers especially when managing a joint
account with someone whose life was not
touched by empty cupboards, homelessness,
insufficient funds, and never enough, no never
enough, double-check, even when there is
I can’t forget what you did…forgive me, I never got your name, but I wish I had, so I could thank you for being you, for doing what you did that day, without even trying, no hint of forced intention, because that’s just who you are… kind, with a helping hand, a ready smile, and a word of encouragement in the midst of my shitty day… I can’t forget what you did…forgive me, I never got your name, but I wish I had, so I could thank you ~kat
For SundayWriting Prompt “Faith Restored”. The challenge: With allthe negativity in the world at the moment I thought we could all take a momentto recognize the heroes in our lives, people who have restored our faith inhumanity when all hope seemed lost.
Youneed not know the person personally just so long as they had an impact on yourlife or the life of someone near and dear to you.
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