autumn
seeing my grandmother’s face
on my mother
Tag: mother
haiku 535
one, two
threefourfive kits
then the mother raccoon
#quikfic 89
A bullet whizzed past the bartender’s string tie. He calmly reached out and took the gun from his assailant. “You’re cut off, Ma.”
#quikfic 66
All the cookies on the tray were gone, and no one was talking. Amy waited to see if it would be her child or her dog who threw up.
#quikfic 59
“Ghosts aren’t real,” Roni said. Her mother’s spirit smiled. “Don’t be difficult. I came a long way to wish you a happy birthday.”
haiku 262
I throw out
the damaged keepsakes
Mom can’t bear to
Fiction: A Glass of Water
A tall, shapely woman walked up the three flights of outdoor stairs and turned right, approaching the apartment she was looking for. She was reasonably well dressed and wore a matching set of 12-carat earrings, necklace, and bracelet. She made three sharp, short knocks on the door.
Another woman opened the door. She was a few years older than the one outside. She was not well dressed, she was not wearing jewelry, and her figure was settling.
“I’m Yolanda,” the younger woman said. “Mrs. Cates, I want you to let Horace go so he and I can be together.”
Fiction: The Neighbor’s Pet
Viola stood on her back porch and watched her children play on the swing set. She turned her head to the left and looked into Mr. Frappingham’s yard. There, as always, was Rufus. The heavy log chain kept him securely fastened to his house.
Rufus was straining at the end of the chain and doing his best to watch the children play; he could mostly see around an oak tree. Frappingham had given his permission for the kids to visit Rufus occasionally, but the animal needed more attention than he was getting.
Frappingham himself probably did, too, but Viola considered that his problem. The old man could take care of himself; Rufus relied on the kindness and care of humans.
“Bobby!”
“What, Mom?”
“Get the leash from the closet and go ask Mr. Frappingham if you and Teresa can take Rufus to the park.”
“Okay!” The children ran past her to get the long leash. Soon, they were pounding on Mr. Frappingham’s back door.
“Oh, yes, I’m sure Rufus would enjoy that,” he said. “Go right ahead.” He looked over and waved cheerily at Viola. She waved back, but only to keep the neglectful old fart in a friendly frame of mind.
Bobby hooked the leash to Rufus’s collar and then unhooked the big chain. Rufus began to dance around the children and he almost took flight as they walked the two blocks to the park.
Viola remained outside until she did see Rufus sailing happily over the trees and doing the occasional loop.
She went inside, muttering to herself. “If you’re not going to take proper care of a dragon, you just shouldn’t get one.”
Fiction: Unraveled
Margaret busied herself with her knitting. When the dark green sweater was finished, she would send it, along with some other homemade treats, to Paul Jr. He could wear the sweater under his army uniform and be just a little warmer while he strove to make everyone safer.
At the rap of the door knocker, Coral, the family’s cat, leaped off the couch and trotted into another room. Margaret set her knitting aside.
She picked it up again hours later, long after the army men and then the Rev. Hauser had gone. She had done her work so well, but it had been fated to be wasted.
She took up her scissors and snipped the yarn close to the sweater. The ball dropped to the floor, and as she went toward her bedroom she kicked the yarn out of her way. She folded tissue paper around the unfinished sweater and packed it away in a shirt box.
The young man had been gone for months; he was out of Coral’s thoughts unless she walked past his bedroom and caught his scent. All she knew was that she had a new toy, and she played with it all night.
Fiction: The Weapon
“Your mother’s funeral,” Aunt Margaret repeated as they sat down. She spoke, as she always did, so Eric and everyone else at the table could hear her.
It was a gorgeous late spring day and the women of the First Baptist Church had set up the funeral dinner outside rather than in the church basement. Only the mildest of breezes blew and it was scented with lilac.
Eric said nothing. He had learned long ago to keep his responses to Aunt Margaret short and polite, whatever else he might want to say.
“Where on earth were you, Eric?” Aunt Margaret demanded from across the table. “What did you think could possibly be more important than being on time to your dear mother’s funeral?”