Back on the 18th I wrote four poems. I figured that didn't put me ahead, as I still wanted to write every day.
I got a little behind on the weekend. Been working on an application for a master's degree.
So, I still want to write for the days I missed. I'm two behind, plus today I haven't written yet either.
I'll post two tonight, and we'll see what happens tomorrow, as I work a double then.
I’m not excited about tonight’s quality, but then, the April 30/30 has never been about quality, I don’t think, as much about writing every single day no matter what. Or, missing a couple days and then writing two afterward ;)
She Dreamed of an Old Shoe:
Comfort, said her daughter.
Shedding layers, said her friend.
Your childhood, said her therapist.
You’re tired, said the quiet voice within.
It’s me, her tired husband.
The urge to run, said her lover.
From this prompt by Nicole Homer:
First, she lost her comb,
the one her mother left her. “You must not have really
loved it,” said her husband. How quickly the flames
consumed him. Out of the ashes crawled a spider, carrying a song
her mother used to sing, and faster than light, she realized
she had to swallow the song. When the comb reappeared,
she did not cry, said only, “I knew you’d come back.”