Maybe it’s time.

“Maybe it’s time.”

“You know it’s time. It’s been time. I’m tired of waiting.”

“Whoa there. Slow down. I’m saying, look, I’m thinking about it.”

“Stop thinking. Start doing.”

“The thing is, maybe it’s not time. I’m thinking it’s almost time. Not quite time.”

“How many times have we had this conversation?”

“What about you? It’s not time for a lot of your things.”

“You want to trade? I’ll do some of my not-time things if you’ll do this.”

“This is a big thing. You’d have to do lots of yours.”

“Shall we make a list?”

“Look, it’s not the same. You can just do your things. But the time has to be right to do this thing. Just right.”

“The time was right from the beginning. It’s right now. The only thing wrong is you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“For you, the time will never be right. Or maybe it will. Or maybe it’ll be too late when it’s right for you, too late for me, the wrong time for me. I need someone whose time is now, whose time is right for me.”

“Look, slow down. Take it easy. Yes, we’ve talked about this a lot. Yes, I’ve dragged my feet a little. But ok, maybe it is time. I just said that.”

“You know it’s time.”

“Ok. Ok. It’s time. Happy? It’s time. I agree with you. It’s time.”

“Now it’s time. Now. Right now.”

“Yes. Right now. I’m thinking about it right now. About it being now. I’m thinking about it seriously now. Right now. Considering it.”

 

For Everyday Gyaan

Haiku

flytrap sweet for food
necessary tool and reward
tart sweet for money

 

 

For Ronovan Writes

imagination

I’ll leave this one to your imagination. I want to confess but I don’t want to admit.

My friends don’t care what I did, most of them, but my parents would care if they knew.

I probably won’t ever do it again but I don’t regret doing it once. Well, ok, this morning I’m feeling a little sorry. For myself but also for doing it.

It didn’t hurt, not too much. I wasn’t scared. Nervous. Anxious. Maybe a little scared.

It wasn’t fun, but I didn’t expect it to be. I just wanted to get it over with. Now it’s over with.

I’m not going to talk about it with anyone. I’m also not going to talk about what I really wanted to do, not what I did. My friends would probably care about that.

The sun is up. I’m still me. Time to go to school.

 

For Daily Post

unicorn

my mama told me not to hang round rufus. don’t see that boy no more. he’s not our kind she said.

he’s my kind i said.

your young just horsing around my papa said your not stable yet. it’s your first rodeo.

he’s lasso’d my heart i said.

he wrangled your brain papa said.

i forbid you mama said but without disrepecting her wishes i respected mine more and rufus and i galloped into the woods behind our barn. the moon was full and i was left unsupervised as the t-shirt says.

now i’m mama of the world’s first zebra-corn.

 

For Carrot Ranch

congregate

what does “congregate” mean, beyond its simple definition?

i could look it up but i’m asking you.

how many humans are required for a congregation? If it’s religious and two families get together, have they formed a congregation? how about two moms with a child each? two moms with one child between them?

can you congregate without forming a congregation? not enough others show up, or others show up who don’t agree with you? can one person congregate, if their intention is to assemble with others, who don’t make it?

if a corner is known for the fact that bums congregate there but at the moment, only one bum is present, is he congregating. perhaps instead of bum i should say indigent person.

animals can congregate, i imagine, but when, exactly? can wolves congregate around a kill, even if they’re already a pack? can disparate animals congregate at a watering hole? i think yes, they can, but if one animal shows up to eat another animal instead of drinking the water, it doesn’t feel to me that that predator is part of the congregation or that it is in fact congregating.

can germs congregate around a wound? can viruses, not strictly alive in all senses, some would say, congregate in a lympth node?

can water molecules congregate to form ice in the form of a snowflake?

what can assemble without congregating? do the helium atoms in a nebula, condensing to form a star, congregate?

just askin.

 

For the Daily Post

Roses

most admire the beauty, the bloom, the color

for some, it’s the long elegant stems that go all the way up

a few contrarians and cynics study the thorns

but for me, it’s the hips

i’ll sit and have tea with those hips

i’ll smoke a little hip

hips are hip

i’m able to enjoy hips because they have cured all my diseases

they’ve made my skin smooth and blemish-free

god hid many secrets in hips

instead of a ring or a bouquet, when i proposed

i gave my love a bucket of hips

her hips aren’t too shabby either

 

For Friday Fictioneers

conversation

Could you converse with an ant?

Talk to her about going to work? That’s what she does and you do too.

Off she marches, same old same old. What about you?

The ants in the next nest? She’ll ignore them or fight them, but never cooperate with them. If she goes over there, they all look alike to her.

You could talk about how your social life is the pits. Couple of girls get all the guys, because they’re to die for.

Or you could talk about how you sometimes get antsy, while she gets peopley.

I’d rather converse with my aunt.

 

For the Daily Post

The Laughing Man

My mom used to bring home men for pay.

I’d take to my room and stay there until they were finished.

You know the story.

Years later we’d sit together on the porch and get high.

“What about that one guy?” I said one time.

“The man who laughed?”

I nodded.

“His name was Stephan. He wanted to be tickled,” mom said. “My only customer who asked for that.”

“It’s a thing, I guess.”

“We came in and for a change,” mom said, “he wanted to tickle me.”

“Why?”

“That’s what I said. Why would you want to tickle me?”

“Yeah?”

“He said he liked me,” mom said. “He said he wanted me to experience what he experienced. You’re paying the freight, I said.”

“Did he make you laugh?”

“He started by putting in a tape. This was back when there were tapes. I said, what the heck is that?”

“Whale song, he said. I laughed at that but after a while it started to get to me. He had me on my back on the bed and he massaged my feet and then my hands. He stretched out my arms one at a time and shook them lightly to relax them. He massaged my scalp. All the time with the whales.

“He had a hypnotic voice. I was drifting. Then he touched my ribs, high up on both sides. It was unexpected. I laughed.

“He was an expert, much better than me at tickling. I’m sure he had tickled women before. I couldn’t control myself. It sort of escalated. I was out of my mind laughing.”

“And then, like he would do, I suddenly burst into tears. Like a well full of sadness uncovered itself in my mind. Memories. They overflowed. He held me until it was over. I was so happy. Glowing.

“Later I tried it with others but it never happened again.”

 

For Flash Fiction Challenge

My Backyard

I left my bed today for the first time in many months. Bruno helped me downstairs and out into the backyard.

The sun was high. The day was warm. I sat in a garden recliner.

The yard slopes down a mile through light woods to the river. A ship with all sails set passed heading south as I settled.

So much air. So much space outside. Breeze in my hair.

A band of Roma camp in the woods. The police and then the army asked me if I wished their removal. Let them stay. I see the smoke rising from their fires.

The dogs stay close at first, then begin to roam, then to course across the hillside. They flush a few rabbits but these dogs are not the old borzoi. They can chase but they cannot catch.

To die outside of that damned room, this is an end worthwhile.

Would you rather…? (Education)

Would you rather have students with dull eyes in eager faces, or eager eyes in dull faces?

Keep in mind that eyes aren’t exactly windows to the soul, like you hear. Instead, recent research indicates that our notion that the¬†visual pathway¬†consists of a series of cells and synapses that carry visual information from the environment to the brain for processing, is too simple. Instead, incoming information meets outgoing information in some as-yet-to-be-explained way, and “seeing” represents the conflation of these data streams.

So on second thought, it sounds like the soul is coming out halfway to meet the real world. If so, dull eyes can’t be good. Who wants a bad soul in an eager body? Cancel my subscription to that magazine that comes in a plain brown wrapper marked “Sex information inside.”

But eager eyes… Can the soul want to bust out out of the brain and go roamin? Pushing along that dull old body in a crazy search for the blue pill? Or is that just me?

It’s a conundrum, and don’t forget, choices are rarely binary. Never mind “dull” and “eager.” What about listlessness? A lot of listless students out there. I can be listless and I’m the teacher. A lot of teachers will tell you they crave eager students, the more the better, but when you’re hungover on a Monday morning after a fruitless weekend seeking legal love, nothing can be more intimidating than those rosy-cheeked faces! Thank goodness for educational videos.

With regard to Ms. Clemons in the school library, I will take any kind of eager I can get.