IRONY

PRAYING CHRISTINE

crumpled cans of Coke on the ground

loud conversation at the next table

eyes averted during a handshake

fingers tapping a text while listening to me talk

delayed flights

smiles withheld on the streets

more, please

 WRITING CHALLENGE: OH, THE IRONY

THE STRANGER

NIGHTHAWKS by Edward Hopper. 1942. Public Domain.

NIGHTHAWKS by Edward Hopper. 1942. Public Domain.

I sit in a brightly-lit diner at the corner of a street which has hours ago emptied out. I pretend to listen to the conversation between the two men with me when a third one walks in. He looks into my eyes then nods to the man behind the counter. He keeps his fedora on as he takes his seat. He sips the coffee he soundlessly asked for and pulls from his suit pocket a small paperback of Camus’s Myth Of Sisyphus. He opens to a page, begins to read and never looks my way again.

WRITING CHALLENGE: FIND A MUSE IN THE MASTERS

MYSTERY ENDING

KILA

Here comes July’s rain
Missing cerulean skies
Though it is lovely
Dreaminess takes over me
Sleep is all I want to do
She observed loudly
I am such a feminist
Yet so feminine
A feminine feminist
Why is that a paradox
Magical creature
Quenching thirst for wonder
Holding my man’s hand
Beautiful beloved
I’m the woman on the moon
A notebook, a pen
Biting into an apple
Writing down a word
I show up each day for this
Revelation on the page
In my gravity
Wondering where this all leads
Mystery ending
Touching the ineffable
Still listening to the rain

WRITING CHALLENGE: MYSTERY ENDING

SELVES COLLIDING

KILA

I am an aviatrix, weaving in and out of voluptuous clouds, lost in the majesty of the sky.

I am a wallflower, sitting in the back of a pick-up truck. I stand as it emerges from a tunnel. The lights of the city glistening in the chilly night. The wind whipping my hair in all directions. My soul touching infinity.

I am a spy, clicking a mahjong tile onto the table. The women flutter and coo when he enters the parlor. My red lips hint at a smile and my eyes demurely look away when his curious gaze settles on me.  

I am a magician, walking down a hall of mirrors. I turn to look at one, startled to find a stranger’s face staring back at me.

I am a daughter, strolling down a garden path in my school uniform. Images of my father folding origami paper into insects keep playing in my mind. I stop and look up. Cherry blossoms rain down my face.

I am a chaperone, taking the train with a beautiful brat. Her precocious eyes take measure of me. I wonder why her disdain stings. 

I am a thespian, donning a mask of glitter and feathers, eager to be somebody else for a few hours.

I am a teenager, drifting off to sleep at the crack of dawn. I spent the whole night walking the streets of New York City with a boy I had just met.

I am all of these selves. And none of them.

WRITING CHALLENGE: WORLDS COLLIDING