Widow’s Waltz Revisited
Chuck Will’s call through mourningsinging up a slow dancewaiting death, no dawdling Chuck Will-ill’sChuck Will-ill’swidow willbut Chuck won’t Mourn limp limbs, sluggish mind,solo waltzyears lost toobroken man death couldn’t find Chuck willChuck didChuck Will’swidow won’t secret stash pills swallowedno regretbright flute leadsChuck dances, she follows Chuck Will-ill’sChuck Will-ill’swidow willbut Chuck won’t Chuck’s widow waltzes slowluminousnightgown swirlsshrouding grief letting go Chuck willChuck didChuck Will’swidow won’t ~Nara Malone For those who don’t know, a chuck-will is a bird, much like a whip-poor-will, that sings at night. The first time you hear one you can recognize it by its call: chuck-will’s-widow. A call that replays through the night. A few years back I…
Fractaled Mind
Nara turns herself into a butterfly… Last night, as the sun slid down to the horizon, reality and fantasy were still firmly encamped on opposite shores. Clinging to middle ground, I resisted choosing sides. Until the stars–guides to mathematicians and dreamers–filled in the darkening canvas with a Van Gogh painting. Logic went fuzzy. Purple bled black. Last night, as moon rode steeds of violet fluff, differences downsized. Ones and zeroes courted similes and metaphors. Code entwined with prose, an unholy entanglement shattered physical laws. Paradox collided with coastline, tossing ragged lines of poetry ashore. I gathered them like shells, stuffing pockets with syllables to be arranged tomorrow, when reason dawned.…
Friday 55: Stalker
There’s a tiger in my house.I don’t know where he came from.He looks at me like I know what he wants.I gave him my Cheerios. He doesn’t look satisfied. The dog is no help. I liked it better when my muse was a leopard–more hider than chaser.This tiger’s story wants writing! ~Nara Malone This post is a contribution to G-Man’s Friday 55. Drop by to see what others wrote or to join the fun yourself.