In the style of “Spoon River Anthology” by Edgar Lee Masters
I was born on a breeze –
cleaned, polished as bright pink
as roses growing fragrant, petals
drifting like stars across the sky,
and I loved the night. I’d stare out
like a moon leaning over the lake.
I lived in a house with a red door,
except when the baby died, then
it was painted black. Life is such
as sticky dance. My heart froze
over when snow fell that year.
I only wanted to go into utter
dark, where timeless things are.
I always wore black. I was well
suited to mourning. To sink. Deep.
Chronically black. A black buzzard.
My eternity is forever frozen, now
the door is painted black for me.
I remind readers that I rarely “do”
autobiographical. These are fictional
pieces inspired by writing prompts.