The Extemporaneous – Draft 2

A newsletter of sorts

Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash

Happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate it here in the U.S., ignore this part if you don’t, and Fight the Power if you actively protest its heinous colonizer roots, or are boycotting shopping this year to send a message that the folks in charge will undoubtedly ignore, or otherwise take from it the wrong message.

I’m mostly option two nowadays, so it’s Chinese takeout for the win.

Aside from all the football on television, I’ve never been a huge fan of Turkey Day, so I’m content to skipping it for a change. And especially this year, as I’ve been caretaking Wifey after her ticker got zapped by heart surgeons. (I casually worked in the lyrics to Bon Jovi’s You Give Love a Bad Name in conversation during Erin’s postop recovery, which compelled her to roll her eyes at me, but she still laughed despite her best efforts not to.)

So yeah, I’ve been pretty busy, tending to Wifey’s post-surgery needs. Last week, she got a cardio ablation to tame a few wonky heartbeats. I’m being glib, but the procedure is quite invasive, excessively medical, and not for the squeamish, so I’ll spare you the details. (Hi, it’s me. I’m the squeamish.)

It’s been challenging and scary for both of us, but I’m relieved to report that Erin is in full recovery, and with the doctor’s blessing – and against my worrying nature – she is planning a road trip with her bestie this holiday-extended weekend.

Huh. Go figure. Just last week, it felt like I was fighting uphill just to support her recovery. This week feels like I’m fighting uphill just to keep her inside the house and sane, so I guess I’d call that an improvement!

Obviously, as she’s my heart & soul (see what I did there?) I will continue to worry about Erin’s health. But she’s got most of her swag and vigor back, and her life is her own, so I will let go, and let her do her thang as I try to figure out my own path. Which means once again I’ll be wrestling with how to get this confounded chapbook accepted for global distribution so I can advertise it and get it the hell out of my life so I can focus on the next thing, whatever the hell that may be.

Why did I want to become a writer again?

The home-selling has been placed on hold until Erin’s in full recovery, which has encouraged the short-sell vultures who can smell the free money hemorrhaging from a “weak selling position” to spam my phone with a bunch of, “I see you’ve taken your home off the market! How can we help ourselves into your pockets?” type of rhetoric. Filtering those calls from the actual headhunters and job interview calls that I’m looking for has been frustrating as hell.

This world is a toilet.

Sorry about that. I got sidetracked with… you know… *gestures wildly* …all of this.

Where was I again? Oh yeah… the book thing again…

The State of  jagged remnants of you

I approved my latest proof early this week. As of now, the status of my paperback is still pending, but the eBook is already approved, so… progress? The only certainty thus far is that I’m reevaluating my publishing options for my next project. I’ve not been impressed by Lulu’s customer service and communication.

Sadly, if you’re still waiting on my book to be made available outside of Lulu’s storefront, the wait continues. I’m sorry. I’ll keep you in the loop as soon as I learn more.

For My Substack Homies

That was quite the falloff, wasn’t it? I went from posting and reposting multiple notes daily to… *crickets*.

You guys still get my newest poems, but I haven’t had much time these days to really think about how I feel long enough to scribble even rudimental drafts. And so, I write less.  

What can I say, except I’ve been pretty stressed? I’ll try to find my way back to the fun interaction that kept me engaged, and I hope to find you there as well. Thanks for your patience and understanding.

For my Medium Homies

I learned how to use the publisher’s scheduling feature for more regular posting to create the illusion of presence, but yeah, I’ve been mostly away cleaning house, making meals, and keeping Erin properly medicated and stimulated (Imagine being an extrovert and being stuck in the house for twenty-four hours a day with only me as your companion. We’re both doing our best, but it’s been dicey at times.)

So if you’re wondering why my posts have increased while my comment correspondence has taken a nosedive, now you know why. But I hope to visit your timelines very soon.

For my WordPress Homies

Whelp… here we are again. I still don’t know what the future holds for this site, but judging by your kind comments, some of you welcome these newsletters, so I will do my best to keep at it. Thanks again for putting up with me.

Final Thoughts

I dunno man. Just do your best. A recurring theme, I know, but it’s all I have to offer.

Be kind to yourself at all times and be kind to others as much as they’ll allow it. With all that’s going on in the world, we’re collectively in a dark place, so do what you can to be the light you need to see in others.

And I’ll also leave the light on for us.

Take Care,

Barry

© BJ Dawson — 2025

Barry’s new chapbook, jagged remnants of you, is available on Lulu in paperback and eBook, and will be available for global distribution someday soon, we can only hope.

Tips are always welcome.


The Extemporaneous – Draft 1

A newsletter of sorts

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

It’s been a while since I sat down and thought about how I feel about – well, everything, I suppose. Now seems like as good a time as any to check in with myself, my writing peers, and any fans I might have picked up or disenfranchised along the way. I figured a newsletter would be the best way to go.

I don’t know if I’ll limit the scope of this thing to my writing projects in the works, or if I’ll meander off the beaten path the way my mind does naturally tend to wander. If I do end up meandering – and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m already in the field and a quarter-turn around the blackberry bush – I trust that most of you will give me grace. Hell, some of you are here precisely for the offroad ruminating, and to this I say, thank you, and you’re welcome.

Where the heck have I been for so long?

If you’re reading me on Substack, then you should know that I’ve spent most of my summer repairing, cleaning, and prepping my home for sale. It’s been an all-consuming labor that left little bandwidth for anything other than eating, sleeping, and being present for myself and loved ones. I tried sneaking off to Substack as often as I could, but eventually I just had to let it go for a while.

If you’re reading me on Medium, then you probably have a good idea of what lead to my knee-jerk jump over to Substack. Like many of us upstart small-fry accounts with 1K followers or less, my revenue dried up after Medium leadership tweaked the rules to the money stream for premium members. I went from being cautiously optimistic at possibly earning a living from writing to having to DoorDash while looking for another day-job. This was cemented by the fact that my Substack posting has yet to earn me one red cent, even as I enjoy contributing to that community far more than any of my online presences.

TL:DR: Writing on Substack for free often feels slightly better than writing on Medium for peanuts, and both must be sidelined whenever reality’s foibles (and bills) come a-knocking. Weird, I know, but these are the facts as I know them.

If you’re reading me on WordPress, I am so very sorry for abandoning you for so long. Is anyone even still reading this thing? I must have about three subscribers left by now. I honestly don’t know what came over me. Medium waved a couple lousy, funky-ass dollars at me and off I went. I don’t know what a soul is worth, but Medium offered me bus fare, and I’ve been chasing those wooden nickels ever since. I guess the seduction of wave-riding to become a “real” professional writer is real as hell. I will do my best to do better.

When will you get back to posting normally?

The short answer is I don’t know. The long answer is – bruh, have you seen what’s going on in the world? What even is normal anymore? Every day my newsfeeds read like Mad Libs: Catastrophe Edition. Everyone and everything seems to be drag-racing to become catalyst for our Extinction Level Event. I don’t know where I’ll be living next month or if our great society will even make it that far. It seems weird as hell talking about any sense of normalcy with democracy crumbling all around me.

Plus I gotta figure out how to better market my chapbook. You see? See how weird that sounds in context with <gestures wildly> all of this? Did you know that Smoke is now the Pacific Northwest’s unofficial fifth season? And everyone just shrugs it off like, “Oh yeah, I remember fresh air. Wasn’t that rad?” The fuck?!?

I must sound like a sociopath trying to promote a poetry book during the End Times. But yeah, like I said; I will do my best to do better.

So what’s the deal with that chapbook anyway? I thought you were publishing it way back in June! What gives, man?

Okay, here’s the thing; I am an idiot. Just an absolute bumbling, stumbling buffoon. Hear me out; I’ve worked hard to become a pretty good writer. I’ve studied, practiced, and perfected my craft to become the kind of poet who makes my readers gasp at the depth of feeling pouring from my words, and I know that as amazing as I’ve become, I still have much to say and plenty to do to get even better… but when it comes to self-publishing, I’m just another spider monkey with an assault rifle.

My chapbook is available for purchase on Lulu in paperback and eBook, and I’ve been fighting the good fight of trying to make it eligible for global distribution – meaning, you could buy it on Amazon, Barnes n Noble, Apple Books, etc – you know, anywhere globally.

But here’s the thing; it keeps getting rejected. The ISBN on the back cover is missing, or it’s too small to register, or it’s not in the right place, or the spine title is too big, or it’s a fraction of a centimeter too far or too near, or fuck you man, I just don’t like your tone, or whatever.

I’m taking my sixth bite at this apple, and I feel pretty good about this one, so maybe October I say – not as a statement, but as a question with both fingers crossed and my tongue tucked in the right corner of my mouth for luck?

It might happen. But hey, I’ve been wrong before, so have your grain of salt handy.

What will you be working on next?

I plan on making my chapbooks a series, with each one as its own theme. I plan to publish the second of this series a year after my first one actually gets its global distribution. So if my spider monkeys pull all the right triggers this October, you can expect a new collection the following October of 2026 (Assuming all the AI’s don’t do a Terminator 3 Skynet thing by then.)

I’m also cross-posting from Medium to Substack and vice versa. My Substack posts are free for the first sixty days. After that, they go behind a paywall for the enjoyment of absolutely no one, as I have no paid subscribers right now, but I’m not trippin’ or whatever. I decided to cross-post these poems over at Medium after the sixty-day mark. So far that’s been going well.

I also decided to cross-post select Medium posts over at Substack after ninety days. I haven’t encountered any issues so far, so I’ll continue to monitor and adjust as needed.

I’ve not yet come up with a strategy for my WordPress vertical yet, but this newsletter is a step in the right direction. I don’t know how frequently I’ll write the newsletter, but if I write one, all three verticals will have access to it immediately. This is me doing my best to do better. 🙂

(Addendum: I’m not too keen on writing on WordPress anymore, as the new interface sucks ass. Or maybe I’m just old now. Either way, I don’t expect to be dealing with this nonsense too often, so if you dig me, maybe try out the other two channels?)

Care to share any final thoughts? Anything more on the state of the world? On our pending World War 3? On any of the ongoing genocides? On any of the other horrors that make us shrug helplessly or cry in the shower? On any random smug bigots meeting ironic ends?

Nah. I’m good. After all, I’m just some guy on the internet trying to sell you poetry at the end of Smoke season. What the hell do I know about such things?

© BJ Dawson — 2025

Barry’s new chapbook, jagged remnants of you, is available on Lulu in paperback and eBook, and will be available for global distribution someday soon, we can only hope.

Tips are always welcome.

Interview with a Poet — Thinking About Poetry Series

Interview with a Poet — Thinking About Poetry Series

Image by Author (Pre-Pandemic-Quarantine weight-gain, of course.)

Happy Friday, everyone! I was asked by Zay Pareltheon to participate in Scrittura’s “Thinking About Poetry” series, and my response was published here. Thank you for inviting me to participate, Zay. I enjoyed writing it far more than I imagined!

Pete Beardsworth – Everything is Just Colors and Shapes – This song just feels like Happy Friday morning to me.

Blueberries for Reina

Photo by andrew welch on Unsplash

Blueberries for Reina

I’ve never eaten a blueberry. I confess I didn’t follow my grandma’s golden rule; don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. They look vile and undignified; like grapes that didn’t quite grape correctly. But my grandbaby is housing those things like they’re nature’s candy, leaving blue and violet streaks everywhere; a little Rembrandt. Every so often, she offers me one with compelling questions of “Uhn? Uhn?” hanging beneath our sun-streaked skylit afternoon. I politely sing, “No thank you!” which always gets a giggle from her before she crams nature’s mess artlessly into her tiny face. She’s more blueberry than toddler now. Maybe I should try one next time she offers.

sea of blue and green
bird chatter and child’s laughter
we breathe together

***

Reina, destroyer of blueberries, all cleaned up now, focused hard on play. (Image by author, used with permission.)

Initiation

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Photo by Simon Wijers on Unsplash

Initiation

“Though your eyes are kind, I’m afraid,” she confessed, lying nude before me.

“Me too,” I said through angelic gaze, “but I see something in you that I can’t explain.” I gorged myself upon her kiss. “Deep within you; I must have it,” I continued urgently in the fading light, embracing her shoulders gently, sliding towards her neck, enclosing her throat with the yip of her last gasp, her fingernails, sunk into my clenching forearms before dropping lifelessly, dangling from her naked corpse.

My ecstasy was interrupted by her now-disembodied laughter. “Foolish mortal,” she hissed, “now you are mine forever,” as my body slowly dissolved. “Of all my new candidates, you surrendered yourself completely. Now you will never know pleasure without death; never the sensual without senescence. This is the barrenness of harvest or pestilence reserved for only my favorite Incubi.”

I regret nothing.
***

Inspired by dVerse Prosery 5 – All Hallows, hosted by Björn Rudberg (brudberg). Other writer’s contributions can be found here.

Lurlina’s Intimates

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Image by ElinaElena from Pixabay 

Lurlina’s Intimates

“Welcome to Lurlina’s Intimates. My name is Lurlina,” sang Lurlina musically over the soft sound of Muzak being piped in overhead. The store was so empty that every note, every windbreak to breathe between the notes could be clearly heard.

“Can I help you find something- oh! I remember you!” she added, beaming, with a wink. “Vic, isn’t it? Couldn’t stay away from me, could ya?”

Vic smiled. “Actually, I’m here to find a gift for the wifey,” he said.

Lurlina pouted, biting her lip. “Oh boo. I though you came back for me.”

Vic blushed, grinning warmly. “Well you are quite pretty, but…”

“It’s ok honey,” said Lurlina, gently touching his forearm. “I’m old enough to be your mom, so I can get away with it.”

“Yeah?” said Vic with raised eyebrows. “I’m 26, and you don’t look much older than that!” His gaze lasted a half-measure longer than what was needed, and as he became aware of himself scanning her vitality – as if the lie could be seen in the nooks of her hips and the crannies of her cleavage – he forced his eyes toward a rack of unremarkable halter tops.

“Aww… bless your sweet, nearsighted heart,” purred Lurlina. “You’re getting all the discounts when I ring you up.”

Vic laughed, looking around the empty store nervously. Taking a deep breath, he returned Lurlina’s fixated gaze. “Don’t worry,” he said. “My momma raised me right. I know better than to ask-”

“My age?” said Lurlina, cutting him off with an electric smile. “Yeah, you shouldn’t ask me that.” They both laughed as Vic shrugged and then relaxed his shoulders. “OK, so, let’s just say that I’m old enough to be your…  older sister.”

“Whatever you say, big sis!” replied Vic with a smirk.

Lurlina lightly slapped at his shoulder. “Oh, don’t mind me, honey,” she said. “I’m just a harmless flirt.” Her eyes lingered on Vic’s chest and arms a few full measures before snapping back to his face. “So, uhm… What can I help you find, sweetie?”

Vic drew a breath as if remembering that oxygen is essential. “Oh! Uhm, I’m looking for some comfy loungewear for the wifey.”

“I might have just the thing over here,” said Lurlina, sauntering over to several racks of lavender lacy tops with matching soft, billowing pants, pulling a top off the rack with a cheeky flourish. “I find this to be the perfect balance between comfort and,” she leaned forward, making a comma with her left index finger, singing teasingly, “‘here kitty, kitty, kitty!’ You know what this is!” she said, straightening with a laugh.

“That looks…” Vic said, with eyes that were definitely not staring at her cleavage on purpose, as the top displayed by Lurlina was within the same eye-frame as her cleavage – so technically speaking, those caramel breasts just happened to be bouncing there – the lavender top, and not the caramel breasts looked, “really good.”

Vic shifted his weight, adjusting his shirt and his pants, with a slight fidget or two.

“So how big are we talkin’?” asked Lurlina softly.

Vic’s smile vanished, and his brow furrowed, knitting together. “I’m sorry… what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Lurlina blushed, laughing nervously. “I’m sad to say it, but I didn’t get a good look at your wife the last time you both came in. Do you know what size she is?”

“I’m sorry,” Vic repeated, closing his eyes, shaking his head as if that’s ever helped to reboot a brain. “what about my wife?”

“Your wife,” Lurlina said slowly through giggles. “How big is she? Is she about my size?” Lurlina pressed the top to her chest, posing to demonstrate as Vic swallowed. “A little bigger? Smaller?”

Vic, finally composed, stared at her as if solving this algebraic problem would win himself a lifetime’s supply of vodka and weed. “She’s about the same size,” was his final answer. “Shit. I should know this, shouldn’t I?

“Probably!” laughed Lurlina. “It’s OK, hun. I’ll include a gift receipt.” Lurlina reassured him with a touch of his forearm. “You can always come back to exchange it. Even if you lose the receipt,” she added with a teasing tone and a slow-jazz grin, “if you come back, I’ll remember you! I’ll always remember you.”

“Is that a perk of being the owner?” laughed Vic, now following her lead to the check-out counter, taking full-measure of her hip-sway.

“I’m not the owner yet,” said Lurlina, between scans and beeps, ringing up unearned discounts. “My mom’s the owner. She’ll be retiring soon though.”

Vic gave her a puzzled look. “Is her name Lurlina too?”

“Her name is Fritzi,” Lurlina said plainly. “I think she used my name because someone trademarked her name or something.” Lurlina grinned and her eyes narrowed. “But I really think she used my name because it sounds more enticing.”

Vic stroked his fuzzy chin. “Hmmm… Both names are unique,” he said, pausing with a crooked grin, “but I like yours more.”

“Now who’s the flirt!” exclaimed Lurlina with a light tap on Vic’s chest. “It’s ok with me, honey. Flirting will get you all the discounts up in here!” Their eyes and glazed grins synched over several bars of the piped-in jazzy sax Muzak. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

“But won’t you husband mind?” Vic asked, briefly breaking their eye-contact.

“Husband?!?” Lurlina laughed, ringing up his total. “Real smooth, young fella.”

“What you mean?” Vic pulled back, shrugging his shoulders while fumbling in his wallet for his debit card. “You got me curious, is all.”

“Oh, I got you curious, huh?” Lurlina stifled another laugh while queuing-up the keypad for Vic to enter his PIN.

“I’m just sayin’,” said Vic, shaking his head and gesturing for emphasis, “you gotta have a lucky-ass-hell man waiting for you at home, right?”

Lurlina stopped laughing and her smile faded. “Oh, that ship sailed two U.S. Presidents ago, honey. He long gone.”

“Oh,” said Vic, turning his gaze to the floor as Lurlina seemed to look right through him, towards something only she could see, her eyes fading, becoming dull and unfocused, her lips pursed pensively. Their financial transaction was completed within the momentarily awkward silence.

“I messed up a real good gumbo we had back then,” she admitted, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Vic offered somberly.

Lurlina pressed her face into smiling again. “Oh, don’t be, child! Lessons learned. We build and grow and move on. Hell, his own mama even forgave me! She and I still have dinner together sometimes!”

Vic laughed nervously. “That’s… pretty cool and nice and…”

He winced, continuing with, “…and totally not weird at all, right?”

Lurlina laughed a genuine, bubbly laugh. “Boy, you silly! Too bad you’re off the market! But it’s just as well. When you’re sure you’re vibin’ with the right one, make sure you pay attention! Don’t wait for something better or pass it by because you don’t wanna be tied down!” She shook her head, smacking her lips disapprovingly.

“Cause when that person’s gone, when you let them leave the store, sometimes they don’t come back, ya know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vic said, nodding thoughtfully. “But sometimes someone else comes along when you least expect it…”

Lurlina broke their eye-contact after a few more musical measures. “Yeah, but I’m not lookin’ for any of that these days,” she said with a finger-wag. “My kids are not quite your age, but they’re off to college, and I’m just out here having as much fun as I can while I can, ya know?”

Vic’s brow furrowed skeptically. “You don’t look like you have kids old enough for college,” he said.

“I already rang up your discount, Mr. Smooth,” Lurlina said with a smirk and faux-exasperated eyeroll. “What more can I possibly give you?”

Vic reached across the counter, resting his hand on Lurlina’s forearm. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I get the impression that you might have more to offer…”

Both took in a shallow breath when they remembered to breathe.

“…in here,” Vic finally finished his thought.

“I… I don’t know,” Lurlina stammered, tensing up, pulling away slightly, but not completely. “Maybe I… uhm… I dunno, baby, maybe I already showed you too much?”

Vic gently squeezed her forearm. “Perhaps something I haven’t seen yet, then,” he said.

Lurlina swallowed hard, biting her lip, her carefree smile yielding to an earnest urgency. “You sure this is what you want, Victor?” she asked carefully, in a husky, almost chilled low growl. “Cause I don’t do half-measures, boy.”

Victor nodded. “I think we both already know the answer to that,” he said with a blunted, lustful authority, his smile also fading to a soft, somewhat faux neutrality.

Lurlina placed her off-hand on top of the one Vic used to hold her in place, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Well then…” The door-chime signaled another customer’s entrance into the store, compelling the two to quickly disengage, standing across from each other stiffly.

“You should come back tomorrow evening after we restock, just before closing,” said Lurlina through a practiced professional smile. “We’ll have a new line of more risqué designs that I’m sure you’ll enjoy. I’ll be alone, but it’s usually dead here. You’d have me all to yourself, ya know?”

“I’d like that very much,” smiled Vic “Tomorrow it is, then.”

Vic gathered his purchased items and left the store.
***

Written for the OLWG #27 – What is he Thinking? weekly prompt. This week’s line prompts to incorporate were:

  1. get away with it
  2. Here kitty, kitty, kitty
  3. You shouldn’t ask me that

I decided to try this prompt after reading Violet Lentz’s intriguing contribution to this prompt, Mrs. Oswald.

I sketched-out the dialogue in about 25-30 minutes, but afterwards, I kept coming back to shape and frame it, a nip here, a tuck there, until two hours later I had… well… whatever the hell this little thing turned out to be. I feel like there’s a bigger story here. Perhaps I’ll chase it someday.

 

Holy Shit! Hey Guys! HEY GUYS!!

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Currently displayed on Tygpress.com. You guys did it!

Well damn! You guys actually did it! I’m impressed. I was going to take my ball and go home, but you folks with your outrage went at this entity with your cease-and-desist and your pitchforks, and they didn’t want any of that smoke!

I know most of you were just as pissed-off as I was, and I’m grateful that you acted on your own senses of justice instead of turtleing like I planed. I am the undeserved benefactor of your righteous actions, and I thank you all. This little guy is grateful that you collection of little guys didn’t take this lying down.

I honestly hope that this the last time I find myself writing about blog harvesting, but I suspect it won’t be. We’ll cross that bridge when it comes, but for now, let’s get back to our scheduled programming.

Open Letter to My Blogmates

Open Letter to My Blogmates

I’ve learned a lot these past few days. I learned far more about DCMA than I ever wanted to. I also learned that I have wonderful online friends who are incredibly supportive. Well, I knew that last part, but it’s nice being reminded every now and then, like when talk me out of taking a flying lead and nuking my blog from orbit.

Thank you for the support and much needed perspective, trE, msjadeli,  petrujviljoen, iidorun, and Dewin Nefol. Again, I’m not going to fight this because I didn’t get into poetry and creative writing to quibble over someone unethically stealing site traffic. I imagine I’d feel differently if there was evidence of someone actually passing my work off as their own.

I was always leaning towards shuttering my blog, and once it’s time to renew my domain in February, I just may bow out then rather than paying the fee. I’ve got a few months to mull it over. But I won’t let a content thief influence my choices.

Thanks again, and sorry for the melodrama.

Your friend,

Barry

She Would’ve Spun a Splendiferous Anime from This

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Photo by Banter Snaps on Unsplash

She Would’ve Spun a Splendiferous Anime from This

“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling away.

“Just holding you,” I murmured drowsily, gently pulling her close.

“This is inappropriate,” she protested, squinting. “And what’s with that light?”

“This is only gratitude,” I replied. “Nothing more.”

“Gratitude?” she scoffed. “I don’t even know you.”

“I know,” I said. “And I don’t know you, but thanks to you, I know a thousand words for the color blue, and so I dreamt I was the moon creeping into your window, spooning you, comforting you with borrowed glow of yesterday and tomorrow, coiling your secrets into the crux of my crescent, never to see daylight again.”

“Oh,” she said. “You doing this for all of us?”

“Yes,” I said. “Now shh!”

And after a pregnant silence, she said, “You know we’re all gone now, right?”

“Yes,” I whispered through tears.

“But take this with you.”
***

#HelpKyoaniHeal

This is a tribute to the victims, survivors, and families of the Kyoto Animation Studio arson/mass-murder that claimed the lives of 34 innocent and brilliant artists. I don’t have any more words to convey my grief and sorrow, but if, like me, you ache to flood the void caused by this act of hate with acts of love, contribute to the GoFundMe setup by Sentai Filmworks. Other ways to help can be found here.

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Written for dVerse Prosery #2, hosted by sarahsouthwest. Others contributed to this prompt here.

Also shared at Poets United Poetry Pantry #488.

#HelpKyoaniHeal

When Twilight Drapes Herself Around Me

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Photo by Daniel Olah on Unsplash

When Twilight Drapes Herself Around Me

Summer sunsets are the laziest, followed leisurely by dusk layering softer, dimmer pastels as if Saturday were being saturated by a steady drizzle of chocolate sundae topping, even lingering as prelude to indigo, with tree leaves reflecting slivers of light, giving them an ethereal glow, and as roosting birds sing to replace loneliness with companionship, adding their voices to the frogs in the pond beyond the vanishing horizon, I smile in gratitude of her unhurried transit.

westward moving sun
carrying her solar tides
twilight consumes me
***

Written for Real Toads Weekend Mini-Challenge: Summer Solstice, hosted by Toni Spencer.