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Habit - Twilight - I Realize
by Miranda Mayer
Friday, March 16, 2007
Not rated by the Author.
Habit: This little yarn is in a format called a mini-story. The trick is to tell as much of a story as you can tell in less than 150 words.
This is one of my many submissions to a publisher. Of eight, only three were selected. This is one of the ones that wasn't chosen. I put it under poetry rather than stories... I don't really know why.
The other two are some little poems I wrote.
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Habit
They would arrive together weekday afternoons, hand in papery hand. They would make their way slowly to the bench that was reliably available for them every day.
She always clutched a crinkly wax paper bag of bread in her hand. They would sit side by side, he in his tweed, she in her tan plaid coat. Their wizened faces revealed such delight in the simple act of feeding birds.
The chickadees, jays and mourning doves anticipated their arrival each day, and would cluster on the overhead branches and wait. I chose to sit in the bench across from theirs.Last Friday, they didn't come. The birds and I waited.
Finally, Thursday he arrived alone. He carried the bread. He looked at me with is old eyes. I stood and crossed to him, sinking down beside him. His hand felt so cold when I held it.
Today, I brought the bread.
Twilight
The sunlight hits my eye like a poker and I blink.
In that second of relieving darkness, I see my whole life.
I see it all culminated into the form of a little girl,
Standing in front of me, gazing up wide-eyed, with her lips in a straight line.
Sometimes I'm her mother.
Sometimes I'm her.
Sometimes I want to erase her.
But the light is back again, shielded by the feathery tops of the firs--not so painful now.
I Realize
The sky is painted with speckles
The air doesn't feel like anything, it's so warm.
I can hear something alive moving, somewhere behind leaves where it watches me.
The river is incessant. It's like the sound of my blood rushing in my ears;
Heart thumping. I hate it when I can hear it--fearing that one day I won't any more.
I smell humus--sweet, fresh, writhing with things that like the night; churning it up as they claw their way out of their dark day-beds.
It's like the world is wrapping itself around me.
If I close my eyes, I can actually feel my mortality.
The glimpses of my life, fleeting by, clickety click.
Those speckles will be there, long after I'm part of the humus, feeding the writhing things.
And my rushing river of blood will be heard no more.
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| Reviewed by Charlie |
8/19/2008 |
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Jean Pike sent me here. She's right. I do like this-- and don't mind Alex. He thinks it's his duty to take poets down a few pegs. His own poetry: unremarkable.
I need to say how much I loved your mini-story "Habit". It's perfect. You have a very soft way of handling your words, but they penetrate deeply-- like water. Me, a sponge, soaking it all up. This is good work.
When you get a moment, check out piggyink.com We're an organization of poets who collect "the good stuff" that doesn't get published. We collect poems, short stories, art -- and compile books of like-themed material which we sell for charities. Maybe you've got some poems and stories hidden away in "that one" drawer. We'd love to see it/them. --Charlie |
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| Reviewed by Linda Newton Perry |
6/25/2008 |
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| "He looked at me with his old eyes" sounds beautiful. Happy writing. |
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| Reviewed by Miranda Mayer |
6/25/2008 |
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| One is a mini-story. The rest are free-form. Poetry comes in many forms. |
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| Reviewed by Ace Antonio Hall |
2/7/2008 |
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| "Habit" is sad, but beautifully written. I love the voice and imagery you have created. Thank you for sharing. |
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| Reviewed by Morning Star |
4/1/2007 |
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A sad piece well written I must
Admit I have never heard of "Miranda Mayer"
But I did enjoyed thank you!!
Love and Peace to You Always..Morning Star
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| Reviewed by Rols Sperling |
3/28/2007 |
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beautiful and so tender again. Is tender your forte?
I'll get the bread next time, do they like wholemeal?
lol
rols
x
ps did you mean his in the third from last line?
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| Reviewed by Regis Auffray |
3/23/2007 |
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Well. This is my first experience with "Miranda Mayer" and I must say I love it. Your words flow like your thoughts or vice versa. It doesn't matter because the end result is most engaging. I thank you for the "connection." Love, peace, continued success and all good things to you,
Regis |
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| Reviewed by Jean Pike |
3/22/2007 |
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Miranda,
I think you have mastered the art of the short-short story very beautifully. This piece, though brief, is packed with meaning and evokes such strong emotions. Very, very nice. I tend to use a LOT more words to get my point across, but if you find yourself with some extra time, sometime, I'd like it very much if you would stop by my page and read some of my stories.
Jean |
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| Reviewed by Samuel Stone |
3/22/2007 |
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well written piece...wishing you well..
SAm |
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| Reviewed by Amor Sabor |
3/20/2007 |
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| A sad piece well done, I gained a lot of images with this write. |
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