Category: prose
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2701: dVerse Quadrille
The Yellows There was a timewhen time was everywhere.Autumn leaves meanttime for school,time for yellow pencils with rubber tips, and winter meanttime for rain coats,and tripping in yellow rubber bootstwo sizes too big —“Grow into them,” Mum said. Written for dVerse Poets Quadrille #240 (44 words including “Trip”). Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.
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2701: Six Sentence Story
A View on Voyeurism Louise’s kitchen window faces two houses: Alison’s, her husband, a retired podiatrist, and Jean’s — her husband lies face-down between the hydrangeas and the electricity meter. Southeast Ambulance Service stands with him, or rather does not; the defibrillator is put away, as if it’s a game they lost interest in playing.…
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2401: Ceramic Truths
Ceramic Truths The sun is splitting the sky open.Night lifts,a spill of milk — dawn is like sleeping with the lights on. My mug; always this one.White, a black penny-farthing.Tivoli. Copenhagen.(Not Rome. Never been.Though I do like pasta.) The chip in the handlefits my thumb like a worry stone,a small devotion,a memory of the morningwhen…
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2201: MicroDosing 100 µg
He made this bench from an oak limb felled by lightning. Each plank cut and oiled by hand. It learned to read the curve of my spine. It knows the weight of thought. It was a July afternoon, heat spilling in from the continent, he found me in a gift of shade, he held two…
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2101: Six Sentence Story
Untitled In the church across the road, up a hill too steep for cars when it snows, they gather every evening — always the same few — coats damp, smelling of wool and fish. They sit on worn pews, reciting worn prayers, asking for health, or pardon, or nothing they can name, until twilight and…
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200125: Six Sentence Story
Dancing with Lions — Part 2 Brigid arrived home from the Six Sentence Café and Bistro in a rainstorm designed by and for fish; the gin was still amusing her, but even so it was an impressively Dickensian squall. She went straight to the kitchen, reached for a frosted mug, dropped in two scoops of…
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1901: A Gogyohka Poem
A Gogyohka Poem Untitled last night’s snowstill holds the breathof those who never came home.my hand sinks in.its silence begins to burn. I will be herewaiting when the crocus return,and the snow drips like punctuationfrom my wrist. the crocus will risefrom a grave of ice,but I no longer flinchat the sting.I write spring in scars.…
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1301: Six Sentence Story
Dancing with Lions She anchors her black stiletto heel to the bar stool; the ritual wait for a man that doesn’t exist, polishing the fantasy of him until it shines. A muffled laugh works loose, a private rebellion echoing in her throat — the kind you make when a voice you invent leans in and…
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120126: Calarcá
Calarcá, Colombia: Two Days Before Christmas I.Night View The village square is a wound stitched with fairylights.Luminous sutureson the velvet of night. The plastic kings in earnest ride,the donkey, a cow,and Godnewborn abide. And from the church,a martial woven pleamarches forward in lockstep harmony. But turn your eye,just turn your head,the alley breathes beside the…
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09.01: Csárdás
Csárdás — (myth in the bones, fire in the blood) It begins with a single note.Thin. Aching.A thread of winter smokeunraveling from a fiddle. The room stills.Dust rises like memory.Somewhere in that soundis a field at dusk,an empty chair,a story your grandmother once whisperedwhen she thought you were asleep. But then —the pulse strikes. The…
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