Once again, I'm going to have Russ the entire week. I decided to per-emptively reward myself by buying Ace Investigations: Miles Edgeworth. This week was mostly rainy, so were inside for much of it. During that parts that weren't rainy though, the weather was so nice and cool; on Friday Russ and I went downtown to the Game and Fish building to watch the alligator feeding, then meandered over to one of the pedestrian bridges. One of these days, I'm going to figure out where to buy trolley tickets
Russ is swinging the grab bag surprise I bought him at the Game and Fish gift store; it was little things like stickers, a pencil, ruler, a booklet, and a foam bass fish. I think he liked it though; he just likes opening things.
On my shoulders, waving at the camera as we cross the bridge. He kept wanting to be picked up and carried that day.
A picture of the trolley that I think turned out really well.
My cat is the one on the left; the other is the neighbor's cat, and probably one of his (grand)children. I thought this was so cute
My grandmother has my aunt's boys this week herself, so I think I may be hanging out with them too. Joe and Kaleb are good with little kids, and I think Russ is particularly attached to Kaleb. Right now the plan is for all of us to go to the museum on Thursday, and I think that'll be fun. Depending on Mom's workload, we may meet up with her for lunch sometime this week too. Don't know what I'm going to do with him beyond that. I guess I haven't taken him to the library in a while.
DailyLitRecognition highlights a series of poems to check out, and put together a super feature.
Homelessness mini contest
Love Letter Contest
Nichrysalis wants to hear your thoughts on the literature community
He's also hosting a flash fiction contest centered around the origins of Fella.
If you're looking for something to do around dA, AlphaManifest has a project worth looking into.
Stapled (Moving Forward)He stapled his mind
To his feet,
So that he will never
Do anything he
But it turns out,
He could could no
Longer move forward.
Life Support (FFM Day 2)I barely have a chance to hang up my coat before a rushed ER doctor hands me a patient file to input in the computer. Opening the folder, I skip to the page detailing the patient's injuries. Car crash: multiple hemorrhages, broken ribs, cracked skull, possible brain trauma. Shuddering, I pull out the drivers license and my heart jumps into my throat. Marcia Jones, 5'9", blue eyes, organ donor. My sister.
Glancing at her room number, I pocket her license and dash down the hall to the elevator, pounding on the UP button until the doors slide open and then close behind me. The sound of my tapping foot echoes off the elevator walls and drowns out the Muzak. It seems like an eternity before the doors ding open again. I squeeze through their small gap before they can open fully and weave my way through the people walking down the corridor.
Her room door is ajar, but the lights are off. I cautiously push it open and take a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. When they do, I gasp and
you can't have it allBut you can have eating wild grapes and their skin like beetle wings
cocooned in bruises. You can have swings that go so high you kick
a hole in the clouds. You can have chickens following you through the front door
and the cat’s gift to say, Look, I am taking care of you.
You can have happiness, but tempered as
your first taste of wine when you hid your puckering face
because you were eight years old and dangerous.
You can have a touch you blush for, ferret hands dancing,
small and terrifying and knowledgable.
You can have an aspiration of “us” held on one stool leg, darting breaths but
never admitting to dreams, to a stew of practicality.
You can talk to her, sometimes,
and even mean something.
You can have the book you stole after she stumbled,
and “that” word sank into your hands. You can’t cure cancer,
but you can have two sets of spoons in the same sink
although she’s only touched the one you lent her,
the one you didn’t expe
salt (FFM 1)When she moved to the tiny beach town in the north, she was young, poor, and vibrant. The seaside was like a promise lingering on her breath; it seemed to symbolise everything she would achieve. She’d walk along the shore every morning in her two-piece skirt suit, pumps in hand, bare toes glorying in the chilly 7 AM water. The incongruity of it all delighted her; the rush of the wind at odds with her perfectly coiffed hairdo, and the salt spray filling her lungs, daring her to take one pace closer, one pace further into the ocean.
There were some days when she’d succumb; arrive at work dishevelled, damp, and smelling of salt. She enjoyed these days the most, even when the sand frustrated and worried away at her feet, even when her hair dried awkwardly in tendrils to the back of her neck. There was something bewitching about giving in to the immense body of water, about carrying the Pacific through her day, in her shoes and on her skin and inside her veins.
~standing on the chair
to see the half-remains of
a pineapple moon.
Roast-Beef of New England“I warned you, this country’s dangerous.”
“You are making it dangerous. If you keep staring about like that.”
I made the best imitation I could of Jack at the tavern table, just a slit of eyes open, lips curled in a silent growl, body hunched over, fists clenched.
“For God’s sake…”
“Stand at ease, man. These colonials have feelings, too.”
He rolled his eyes. “Treacherous feelings.”
I kicked his shins under the table. His legs were wrapped in heavy wool stockings and in gaiters, so I supposed he wouldn’t be hurt much.
He kicked back, just below my knee, where I’d been shot at Plassey. I noticed the maid has approached us only when she patted on my shoulder and asked me with a smile half-way between tender and teasing, “Sir, so early in the day and you’re already drunk?”
“If only he were”, said Jack and snapped his fingers. “But go