Tag Archives: baby

MANDIRA PATTNAIK: Womb

Poetry, Submissions, Touching, , , ,

O mother!
I didn’t cry
coming into this world,
Came playing
in your womb!

Your breath
my cradle.
Womb—
crucible of life.

I nudged softly,
you felt me
under your bump—
Our
happy beginnings!

Where else does plurality
dwell so harmoniously?
Like distinct chromosomes
braided expertly,
exquisitely,
in mothers’ wombs!

Mandira Pattnaik writes in India. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Times of India, Eclectica Magazine, Lunate Fiction, Microfiction Monday, Fiftywordstories, Paragraph Planet, FewerThan500 and (Mac) ro (mic).

ALAN KEMISTER: Panhandler

Artistic, Submissions, Top Stories, Touching, , , , ,

The scruffy young panhandler sat on the busy sidewalk suckling a fractious infant. When I dropped a coin in her pot, the baby reached for my fingers. Distracted by the tiny hand and abandoned breast, I lingered for a moment too long.

“Alan?” she said as I tried to leave.

Alan Kemister is a retired scientist experimenting with more fictitious writing. See the gory details at alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com.

MICHAEL BORNE: Here Be Dragons

Amusing, Submissions, , , ,

The first day that I drove my new son and his exhausted mom home from the hospital, the freeway was thick with fast cars maneuvering around mega pick-ups with large tires and 40-ton semis, all in a mad dash to get somewhere.

How will I ever protect him?

Michael Borne lives in Texas, where large pick-up trucks seem to proliferate.

MARY SHEEHAN: Making Your Voice Heard

Amusing, Submissions, , , , ,

The new Authority made changes.

My comrades looked on with wide-eyed but silent alarm.

We had to assert ourselves now, or we were surely lost.

I opened my mouth wide. “WHAAA!!!” I wailed at full volume.

The others joined in.

The new babysitter quickly flicked back to the children’s channel.

Mary Sheehan writes from the occasionally sunny south-east of Ireland.

JENNIFER L FREED: Fourteen

Submissions, Top Stories, Touching, , , ,

I thought,
when my daughter finally left
my womb,
that I’d be free
again,
could go back
to my old self.

Nobody told me
my breasts would ache
for her hunger,
or that her heat, her scent,
her fierce little grip
would hold me
even after I’d given her away.

Jennifer L. Freed likes inventing characters but doesn’t have enough time to write. The narrator of this story did not exist until a prompt (“Write something on the theme of independence”) brought her to life.

KAVANAUGH: Ripped Tide

Artistic, Submissions, , , , , ,

She has to have her cigarettes. Buys them with the baby food money. Buys a six-pack, too. She lights up; first drag is always the best. She drops it in the sand, crushes it. She chugs the beer, staggers, falls into the moonlit surf.

She gave the baby up today.

Kavanaugh’s poetry, prose, and photographs have appeared in Melancholy Hyperbole, When Women Waken, and Blotterature. She travels the scenic route between St. Pete, Florida and the Off Campus Writers Workshop (OCWW) in Winnetka, Illinois. When she’s not writing, she’s listening, picking up slices of life or shells on a beach.

MARCUS BENJAMIN RAY BRADLEY: For Sybil Catherine

Submissions, Touching, , ,

“Dada?”

“Yes, honey? Do you know that I love you more than anyone ever will? One day you’ll get married but… I’ve known you since the second you were born. That will be some guy you just met, in the grand scheme of things.”

“Dada,” said my 10-month-old in agreement.

Marcus Benjamin Ray Bradley grew up in Perryville and now lives in Versailles, KY, with his wife and daughters. Other work can be found in the pages of Chiron Review and Five 2 One magazine as well as online at the Kentucky Arts Council and here at Fifty Word Stories websites.

AMBER D TRAN: Flora Highway

Submissions, Touching, , , , , ,

I brought her some West Virginian wildflowers fresh from the Star City exit on I-79.

She cradled them like an infant wrapped in burlap. The little bluets danced along the dewy glow of her paling face. “What should we name them?”

“Honey …” She wanted to name everything.

Ever since.

Amber D. Tran graduated from West Virginia University in 2012, where she specialized in lyrical non-fiction and contemporary poetry. She currently lives in Alabama with her husband and miniature dachshund. Her first novel, Moon River, will be released this fall.

JOAN TRUEMAN: Aching

Submissions, , , , ,

They had to cut me to take you.

I heard your cry fade down the hallway.

It haunts me nightly.

I bought you cards every birthday, not knowing if I should buy for a son or daughter.

You are fifty years old today.

I still crave my beautiful bastard baby.

Joan is an educator in Australia who loves the beauty of language.

JACKIE BISHOP: Doing It Right

Submissions, Touching, , , ,

She rocks him slowly, gently in her arms, his tears still sparkling on hot, red cheeks, too exhausted to sleep.

Motherhood. When does she get to feel as if she’s doing this right?

He opens his eyes suddenly, sighs, then yawns sleepily.

At this moment, she is doing it perfectly.

Jackie was thrilled to have her first attempt at flash fiction published recently, and is hoping to keep up the momentum with more in the future, as well as working on her fourth novel and a travel journal.