It was mid morning on a weekday.
I was working in my garden.
Doing battle, was more like it.
This unruly patch is the only green in this row of yards.
The grape is tangled with the honeysuckle.
Lina’s broom is on a surge for the sun while stiffling the lavendar.
When far away an interrupted cry.
It was the voice of a woman. I could hear the blows landing, and the rebuke with each blow. This, even after she had stopped crying out. A man’s voice, full of rage, blaming her for it all. She refused to give him the satisfaction of crying anymore.
He kept hitting her.
I couldn’t figure out which house this was coming from.
I felt helpless, pissed off and horrified all at once
Then there was a gurgly scream from him
Followed by silence.
For dVerse poets prosery #1, word limit 144 words max and include this line
“…when far away an interrupted cry..”
This prosey contains 140 words..I think.
Stop over and do some reading, or even participate here.
The things we do on our own as kids, is at times amazing. And sometimes, if we’re lucky, it stays with us.
I don’t even remember how old I was. But I remember the lesson in school had been about caterpillars turning to butterflies. There had always been caterpillars on the bush behind our house. So, I set out to observe this up close. I caught a caterpillar off a leaf. I started by putting it in a cardboard box. But I couldn’t see anything because he kept hiding under the leaves I’d put in with him. Then, I moved it to a jar with holes in the lid that I’d put in with a nail. Afterall, a caterpillar had to breathe.
I was the first one up at twilight to see what was going on in that jar. I watched it change from a caterpillar, to a chrysalis, to a butterfly.
Then It was time to set it free. Watching that butterfly fly away made me feel like a proud parent. The odd thing was, I felt no sadness seeing it go. Just a sense of wonder every time. What it must feel like to have wings to fly…
De Jackson (aka WhimsyGizmo), is our host this week on Quadrille Monday over at dVerse Poem. The challenge is to make sure the poem is precisely 44 words long, and literally contains some form of the word kick.
So here is mine, my first Quadrille
New curtains, throw pillows new spreads for the beds
Fruits been soaking
With this there’s no joking
In bath of red wine spiked for kick with