Category: Visual Verse
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for Visual Verse Vol 7 Ch 3
Magdalena She was named after the valley where she was born: Magdalena. Her mother was also born here, as was her grandmother — all of them named Magdalena. Each had second names though, so as to not be confused one with another, even though age differences should’ve sorted this. Magdalena’s second name was Muisca, meaning…
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for VV: Vol. 7 Chapter 01
Sunsets Always Fade to Black The sky is my best memory of it, a reddish violet, sometimes lavender colour just before the brightness of streetlamps poured down sheets of luminesque. In the fog that light seemed like stardust from a galaxy far, far, far away, some place on the edge of my daydreams that played…
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You Can’t Outrun a Rain Storm
You Can’t Outrun Squally Rain Outside a fisherman ties his dingy to the dock. He runs for shelter below a lean-to sheet of plastic, as if a person can outrun squally rain. Nothing compares, being chased by a tropical maelstrom. I’ve sheltered in a cafe with plastic chairs and tables. I glance up at the…
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for VV ‘s August Submission
To Those Proud Mums and Those Kids of Theirs For 8 years, I pretended to swim. Their kids, their mothers said, can swim in the deep end. Well this was too much for my mother, and she’d heard enough of what her kid couldn’t do, and that, she said, was going to change. So I’m…
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for July’s Visual Verse
The Magnetic Ms Stella I called her Ms Stella. No reason. Just did. She was supposed to be a metal art installation. I started by grave-robbing contents of the junk drawers. Found a big magnet, a zygote lump of lead that pulled and tugged iron like a Siren’s song. First came, 2 screws, 4 bolts,…
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Refrains
From One Refrain to the Next Back then, when I lived life as if it were a song, when each minute was a note, each day its refrain, when a rude suggestion could make me blush red, back then I thought I’d be content to reach 50, maybe die blowing out my birthday candles. Back…
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Draft for VV
An Old Photo Reminded Me That — Mama loved her bedtime stories, back when I was small enough to get lost in my bed. She’d tell me tales of the pottery woman who, all day, all night, turned out pottery in a pin-prick-small corner of her room. She’s in there, somewhere, behind silvered layers of…
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A Conversation with a Rogue Taxidermy
A Conversation with a Rogue Taxidermy I know a girl who says she’s not sure how she came to be here, sitting on a metal folding chair, wearing a white silk gown, a corseted tight-waisted atrocity. She’s a harpist, back row over to the left, her right, and she plucks away wearing silky gloves. Whose…
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Day 2.1 Visual Verse
Above All That I know a boy who’s magnetic. Steely. Has mettle. But he giggles at rocks. And stones. Sees the joke of them. In them. Laughs his head off when he holds one. Says you can suck water from a rock. From a stone, too. That made me laugh my head off. He says…
It's Still Life 