Someone once told me a hot shower is like a mother’s womb.
Perhaps because you feel safe being vulnerable.
I wonder if I ever cried in my mother’s womb.
I like crying in the shower. It’s the solidarity I get knowing that something else can pour as much as me.
Joshua Benitez believes the best time for a shower is at night.
Someone I care for passed away
But that isn’t true on social media today
Their birthday notice continues to lives on
Compelling “friends” to comment upon
So I learn the flesh may rot but we never really die
When we can still be liked in the digital by and by.
Kent Oswald writes, edits, walks the dog, and pedagogs in NYC. Additional words at kentoswald.com.
Words flowed: eloquent, impressive.
Everything perfect, until
a fly disappeared into her interviewer’s
Wouldn’t be easy,
but she’d battled giggles before,
Two more entered the bun party.
She bit her lip.
Oblivious, he droned on.
“We’re all abuzz…” he said.
She heard no further.
Judi MacKenzie is a writer who still wonders if that woman in the story got the job.
Maple is flirting with me.
I glimpse her at windows as she ducks out of sight, catching only a swirl of scarlet skirts. She leaves little crimson-wrapped gifts outside my door.
I love her. I wish I knew that she loved me… but Miss Sugar Maple never says a word.
Maria speaks for the trees and, of course, those who love them.
The story of the week for November 4 to 8 is…
Rain Dance by Raymond Sloan
We form a club, pondering the mysteries of life. Every Tuesday night at 7 PM.
We read books, attend conferences, question friends.
The bottom line is, we simply cannot concur on what we’re doing here.
We are, however, in agreement on one thing.
There must be pizza at every meeting.
Susan Gale Wickes is a writer from Indiana. She enjoys pizza and pondering the mysteries of life.
Starlight city nestling inland
Where Magic is humming
And Mystery glows
Interwoven between threaded crossed lines
At each end is a watcher
A tall figurine
Stop centrally now, take care with your step
Yes, just there, on that same pinprick where
Stand the Artists who painted
The wild silken road.
Peter Li-ping lives far from the Silk Road but it’s always with him.
The Story of the Month is chosen from the Story of the Week winners announced from the past month.
The finalists for October were:
Mother Always Asked Uncle Bart to Babysit by C. Christine Fair
No Returns, Exchanges, or Substitutions by Maria Cargille
The Macy’s Mummy by Graham Robert Scott
Like a Crow by Louella Lester
Grocery Run by Mariya Khan
The winner of the September 2019 Story of the Month, and the $10 prize, is…
Mother Always Asked Uncle Bart to Babysit
As several commenters pointed out, praising or “liking” this story seems wrong somehow, but that’s really the point: it makes us uncomfortable, it even hurts us, but we can’t ignore it. If we do, look at the consequences.
What I appreciate most about this piece is its double-edged sword. There is condemnation of Uncle Art and of the mother: How could you do this? How could you let this happen? And there is also pain spilling out from the narrator to wound those around her: beg me for absolution. The consequences ripple out.
Christine, thank you for sharing this.
I try to draw a flower, a forget-me-not. Nothing flows from my pen.
I’ll sketch one perfect rose, to declare my love. It turns out wilted, withered.
I let my pen have its way across an empty page. When it stops, all I have to offer
is a broken heart.
Candace Kubinec posts her stories at storydribbles.wordpress.com and her poetry at rhymeswithbug.com.
The Stars fade gently into a glowing horizon as the Sun arrives in the East.
Some remain still glistening to complement the radiant canvas of colour and light.
This visual spectacular provides a challenge to every artist’s palette
as they strive to capture the new dawn before it vanishes forever
John B. Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.