Day One

89EB18B9-C9D0-4DD9-8601-B1A94623DB78.jpegNovember 1, 2016
I. Morning

Day One: November is for writing.
30-day novels,
flash fiction challenges,
everyday thoughts,
penned daily.

I took the challenge,
by email prompt,
coerced by writer-friends;
accountability to exercise
my creative brain.

I doubt I can do it,
I never finish what I start.
I could pretend
I forgot it’s November.

There are leaves still
on the trees, after all,
and hanging on my
backyard maple.

In Minnesota,
this makes no sense,
save the global warming,
the skewing of the seasons.

So, it must still be October.

II. Afternoon

Day one: A friend is dying,
her brain captured by disease,
eating every crevice and lobe
at rapid pace,
nothing to be done.
I pray for a miracle,
never-the-less.

Day one: I watch from the end of the hall
as her husband receives news,
and chooses to remove the tubes
from the love of his life.
The swaying,
the fidgeting,
the bravery.

Day one: I pray in the chapel,
by a pile of altar stones;
the 23rd Psalm,
the shadow of death, and
the table set,
forever.
I choose a pebble,
the color of my friend’s hair,
and place it into my pocket.

Day one: I watch my son say goodbye
to his youth pastor,
second mother
and friend.
I watch stoicism
melt as he does
the hardest thing
yet in his young life.

Day one: I say farewell to my friend,
a God-got-it-right woman.
I tell her to rest now,
she’s done more than her
fair share of work.
All the children saved.
All the stomachs fed.
All the people loved.

 

III. Evening

Day one: I eat chocolate,
hug everyone,
hold my prayer stone,
cry…
and I write.

 

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s