Once again a gun, a young man aching
for a fight he could not win.
Judging others for their choices, no
not choices, but their lives, their life
blood spilled onto a dance floor for
one man's fear of choices he would not face.

If only we could find the grace to lie 
next to each other and look up 
at the stars. We are so very small,
and our differences even smaller.


This was written on the day after the nightclub shooting in Colorado Springs that left at least five people dead, as well as in response to a prompt from Miz Quickly on 11/20/22.

"Money doesn't grow on trees," my father 
always said. Yet here I am spending the
midst of November on a hillside again, 
the sunny day calling me outdoors where 
an aspen's gold coins float down to earth.

All I have to spend is time. Today, that is
more than enough.



This draft was written in response to the 11/19/22 prompt from Miz Quickly.

The baby tumbled down the stairs
while I directed her fall.

Interior dialogue: just my luck --
thirty-five steps and afterwards,


crickets.


This was written in response to the 11/18/22 prompt from Miz Quickly.

[Lest you think I am a monster, the title here is everything.]

winter dawn's luster
burns bright through maple branches
cold consolation


Written in response to the 11/15/22 prompt from Miz Quickly.

I've no idea how my mind works;
you'd think that I might, since the mind is 
mine, but ideas seem to appear 
whenever they want 
                   only to disappear 
                                                          without 
                                                                           a 
 

trace.


Draft written in response to the 11/14/22 prompt from Miz Quickly.

They were sure they saw a sign, but of course,
they completely missed the treasure -- early morning
sunrise on waves tinged with purest gold.
Always busy fussing with equipment, looking
down as if sand holds a treasure in place,
all the signs ephemeral and soon gone from sight.


This draft was written in response to a prompt from Miz Quickly on 11/13/22.

My least favorite tasks --
dusting, sweeping, tidying and,
ugh, bathroom cleanup!

My favorite playlist for 
my least favorite tasks? Tammy
Wynette, reminding me to

Stand by My Man, lest there be
a D-I-V-O-R-C-E. That voice, that
energy, those lyrics made me feel

like the happy little housewife that
I never was; I was Almost Persuaded
but only in My Elusive Dreams.

This draft was written in response to the 11/12/22 prompt from Miz Quickly.

There's a crow in my attic.
I've made him my pet.
I feed him strawberries and cream.
His cage hangs from the rafters,
its bars catch the light from
the window that faces the tree.
My crow must be happy - I'm happy
with him! I visit with him every day.

But wait -- there's a problem. He
tries to break free every night 
around twenty of three. His cawing
makes such a miserable sound as
he claws at the bars of his cage. I think
if I love him, I must let him go to 
be happy in yonder old tree. So
I open the window, then open the
cage and he looks at me quizzically.
No longer my pet, but I think he's 
my friend,  he flies off toward the 
moon, finally free.

Written in response to a prompt from Miz Quickly on 11/11/22.

Head full of distractions, no through line detected;
not a thought given to where I'm directed.

The pathway heads north and then 
suddenly switches and I'm heading

off

in

a whole new direction. I wish I might
stay for a while here and write.

I'd direct my thoughts and
my ink to the page, but

it ain't gonna happen, so I'll say, "Adieu,"
as I hurry back to from where I just flew.


This was written in response to the 11/10/22 prompt from Miz Quickly.

The chosen pathway of her life
snakes on before her.
Its twists and turns leave her
to wonder what will be revealed.

Why has she chosen this path
over all the others? The question,
unspoken as dusk closes in.
Only her footsteps know the truth.



This draft was written in response to a prompt from Miz Quickly on 11/7/22.