Last week I bought a new dress. It took me a long time to make up my mind to buy it. It’s not my usual thing. It’s red and fitted – no, downright snug – and cut alarmingly low in the front. It’s sophisticated and sexy. The fabric has just enough give that it’s comfortable, … Continue reading Fashion forward
He only cooks when he's angry. Seared scallops. Chicken, breaded and pan-fried. Anything that sizzles, to drown out my excuses. Tonight it’s steak, blackened, medium-rare. He serves it up in silence and I eat. Each mouthful tastes like ash. Each bite burns.
The moon shines down, her face inscribing a clear path between the banks - a silver span of light There flows a torrent of words between us a river of falsehoods and in the dark no bridge This mirror cinquain brought to you by the yeah write March poetry slam!
Three fingers for Sasha. I watched her bleed out. Three for Sinjin and Marc, lost in the blast. Three more for Mimi, whose last words I couldn’t hear. Three for Viktor, my last hope. So much grief, and nothing left for me.
Dawn is a bated breath while I stand by the sea fog collecting in my lashes like tears This little cinquain brought to you by yeah write's March poetry slam!
Christine Hanolsy 