The Bluebell Project (continued): In Which We End Where We Began

"Why are you crushing those flowers?" "I'm not crushing them--I'm pressing them. To try and preserve them." "Oh." (the "whatever, Mom" was implied) "They're bluebells! Like Uncle Charlie's album named after the Brontes' poems! Remember the four kids who had great imaginations like you guys and wrote--" "Can I play Minecraft now? I ate lunch."…

Little Books and Other Small Things

Once upon a time, in Florida, my brother bought a little music box with two ceramic figures on it while composing an album of beautiful guitar pieces. Once upon in time, in Kansas, I was feeling adrift in my writing but felt an instant and overwhelming knowledge of the little music box people.Their backstory came…

Dorian’s Palette

Made of failure, constructed of disappointment, she is set down before Beautiful with her empty bowl and her crushed being. Twisted and untruthful, plank-eyed and a great arm for stone throwing, she is brought to Beautiful and placed on her mat, given her bowl. Her portrait is a glossy masterpiece in Vermillion in Prussian Blue.…

Watch Repair

I get tired. I sleep on the job. I look around but I do not watch. I love the trees-- how they dwell in their grassy silent chambers. And I hate wandering on the edge of those gardens of knowing the terror is only just ahead-- but not yet. I would feel safer in a…

Sword

From under the stones- in a flurry of sticks- the weapon bursts outward. The weapon is singing a song. The mission has a soundtrack. Lists, signposts, a return address: they mark the map I follow. I want to hold the weapon-- for protection for promise for prosperity. It seems to have new batteries though. The…