Category: prose
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Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #4
4 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
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2102: Journal of Thoughts
Gardening Tips for Late Winter The shovel was his wife’s. Silver-gilt handle, worn smooth by her grip. He’d kept it after she left, hung it on a hook in the shed where the light never reached. He started small. Digging in the garden’s far corner, where the roses failed and the soil gave easily. He…
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Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #3
3 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
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Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #2
2 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
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Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #1
1 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
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1702: Ash and Interleaf
Part 2: Of Ash and Interleaf — from Brigid’s Diary: Paris, 17 February 1833 The pages between here and the turn of the Seine have been removed, fed to the fire, their spines cracking like small bones. Felreil says Paris is a danger made of touchpaper and of men who read silence as a lip-wet…
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1302: MicroDosing 100 µg
The Bone Whisperer The bones had been whispering for centuries. Not words …just a low, subterranean hum that vibrated through the soles of anyone who lingered too long in the ossuary chapel. The priest blessed. The villagers fled. The crows remained. The bishop declared it miracle or curse, depending on the collection plate. Then the…
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1302: Naming the Unclaimed
Naming the Unclaimed Wolf moon.Orion’s Belt.Sirius, bold and low. She stands beneath them,wrapped in night’s blanket,its hem dusted with memory. Each star is a name she mouthslike a lullaby,like a story left unfinished. Children she never bore,their light traveling yearsto reach her upturned face. Jupiter.Pollux.Canopus. She counts them slowly—not to possess,but to belong. The city…
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1002: Six Sentence Story
Passport Interrogation Part 1, Calais, 12 November 1830 The paddle-wheeler pitched us into France; the quay fatigued by tides, received us without welcome, smelling of coal and old salt. Under a dripping lamp the policeman collected our passports like birds he meant to keep, and we surrendered them as one surrenders breath to winter. Felreil,…
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0902: Quadrille 241
In Wilt and Thirst They bring the grave indoors, my dear.A perfumed death-rattlein a vase. Their vivid throats sing a borrowed song.A final, furious blushagainst cold glass— a love note signedin wilt and thirst.Flowers.See us drown in own deep thirst. Written for dVerse Poets, Quadrille #241 Flowers. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.
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