For Brendan- A Fall Poppy by ~Lestatslee| Entries for the Colors Contest at Wordsmiths. |
CinderellaCinderella by *Scarlettletters
Waiting for a coach
and four
that never came,
she realized
a ball gown
won't bloom
out of sackloth;
glass slippers
are not dependable
and mice
are best left
to their own devices.
Midnight was never a friend,
and under that suit
he is the same as any other
man.
Snow WhiteSeven more mouths to feedSnow White by *Scarlettletters
(For this you left
your father's house?),
shoes piled by the door
and grimy rucksacks
full of coal.
(He promised you a diamond)
They keep you on your toes
with their uncombed hair
and their untrimmed beards
and appetites like young bulls.
That dress of yours
has seen better days
and your hands
are worn out -
bloodied starlings in your pockets.
So you cook and clean
and sew
and wait by the window
each morning for them to leave,
polishing your apples
and dream of what the huntsman
is hiding in his box.
CheatsThe light makes cheatsCheats by *Scarlettletters
of us both,
so we change clothes
in the greedy dark
without looking
or thinking twice.
We do not touch,
our skin afraid to lose
or breathe too close.
We pass in the street
but do not acknowledge
each other
in buildings'reflections,
in the glare of taxi cabs
or the stiff pull of elevators.
We do not rub elbows
or let our shoulder blades
press together.
But I would know you
anywhere - any place
the sun is uneasy
and the skin of us
wears thin
or strangers are told
to breathe
in another direction.
Bone BlossomsBone Blossoms by *Scarlettletters
Bone blossoms,
a ghost of iris-
blue so pale,
it slips off the page
and sheets.
You know the scent;
you borrowed it
from some girl
who was your best friend.
You slept together in the same bed;
she borrowed your sweater
and bracelet,
and kissed you
when mother was not looking.
You fed her books
and strawberries
left out in the sun,
ripe as the boy
next door.
She put her hand
in yours
one warm night
in August
and asked you
what it made you think of.
Just blossoms
you said -
teal and purple,
feathered like summer -
like the summer
when you were five
and the heat
just could not keep away
and the sky went out.
| Digital Art |
TomahawkAt this angle, the roseTomahawk by ~Tigermoth99
stalk is a tomahawk ready
for throwing. Certain
is the cut - the deep gash
once it hits and all you feel
are the thorns against your skin.
At this angle, the rose
stalk embedded in your skin
is a thousand things gone wrong.
Plucking each one out won't undo
their pushing. There is only the white
after this, the unforgiving white.
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Welcome back! 
Sta.sh
