Tag Archives: dawn

Elegy to Dawn on Sand

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The whining dog
settles miserable but stoic
Let them sleep

A smile fades off her face
Blood runs thin as copper wire

and a stippled colony of mollusks
come through visible
like a regular mortal gravity

–gorgeous orange blossoms
for irregular gravity–

and I firewalk past
the skeleton of a fruit stand
olive trees
the lumpy paddocks

The heat was killing
and over
without a word

This poem is inspired by an exercise to select a photo and write a poem below it, with words from a published work. Most of the words in my poem come from the book “Dirt Music,” by Tim Winton.

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Dead (97)

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This image was provided by Madison Woods as inspiration for the Friday Fictioneers.

A body discovered. A person disappeared.

She died there, in the cold dark before dawn, when the air is thin like a blade. Ice crystals formed on her lashes and in the corners of her eyes.

I imagine these tears escaped at the last moment, when only a subconscious would be left, before her lungs and heart stilled, but the breath was already slight. She would not have cried before, even if she were afraid.

I would have cried.

Beautiful enough and worthless enough to be killed in some archaic performed artistry. Oh, what have we sacrificed.

For more flashes prompted by this image, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Madison Woods and explore the Friday Fictioneers.

Look (200)

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Looking Up (this image is provided by Madison Woods, the original fabulous Fictioneer of Fridays)

The boy understood what it meant to look up.

And down, too.

He was a person who worked hard – when he remembered – and had profound thoughts – when he was caught off guard.

On Sunday mornings, he disappeared and though we looked, it was never until late, when he chose to reappear, that he would be found. I don’t know why I decided to follow him. Maybe I was tired of the gaze that saw everything but me.

So I followed him out, over the still-wet grass, past the bunkhouse and the willow-lined irrigation ditch turned creek bed. He pulled a bike from between bales and rode over the hill on tracks made by pick-ups and tractors. Out there, those tracks and haystack are reminders that we marked this place, that it is not wild, really.

I followed discreetly, though he probably knew all along I was there. We passed the pond and dipped down along the other side of it, and he disappeared into another stand of trees – quaking aspen, I thought, cottonwood. I waited.

He called me, then. Jules, come see!

I went; found him on his back, eyes on the brightening sky.

Look through the leaves, he said.

Photo Number 2, double inspiration.

For more stories prompted by these images, visit Madison Woods and explore the rest of the Friday Fictioneers!