Christ’s Entry

I can’t really say I loved him. Love does not come easy for me. He was my first kiss, a little bit of making out, kind words from his thin lips.

I went on to guard the pool, to save a life, my tanned olive skin a beacon for men. Then one day a man walked through the gate and I watched his choppy strokes across the water and married him.

We vowed to love art. To make art out of our lives. We traveled both locally and abroad but that huge painting on the Getty wall stays with me— Christ’s Entry into Brussels in 1889 by James Ensor.

When will He come?

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NaPoWriMo Day 21 prompt— a person forgotten, a job taken, a memorable piece of art, an unanswerable question

https://smarthistory.org/ensor-christs-entry/

Christ’s Entry

No Interest No Plan

Só it is settled. I have no interest in going to Australia. Perhaps because it is called The Land Down Under, so just as I have no interest in dying, I have no interest in traveling to Australia. This creates a problem for my plan of visiting every country that is an island. Time to change my plans.

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NaPoWriMo Day 15 prompt to write what you have no interest in.

No Interest No Plan

Love to My Dog

How do I love thee!? Let me count the ways. from Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? I love thee unequivocally. Let no man deny true friendship with a dog. How do I love thee? With undeniable comradery. I seek no other desire but to walk with you everyday as you pull on the leash and sniff so boldly. How do I love thee? With double blessings to have you in my life against all odds of never having another pet. Your nickname Never Again. How do I love thee? With every passion welled up inside of me as you sit so earnestly for a treat. How do I love thee? Robustly and vigorously while scratching you behind the ears as you greet me at the door. How do I love thee? Undeniably.

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A love poem for NaPoWriMo Day 10.

Love to My Dog

Underwater

When I was ten, I learned to swim. To hold my breath, submerge, and move underwater. Only the torso, legs and arms of other people were visible. No heads. I never timed these underwater adventures but swam about like some kind of fish. Eyes open but no gills; just my expanded lungs, increasing capacity to stay under longer and longer. I became an orca scouting its prey. My feet, the fluke, pounding surface with each new breath. My mouth spewing water into the sunshine.

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NaPoWriMo Day 8 prompt to write your alter ego.

Underwater

In Mother’s Room

I am in my mother’s room. It was the kitchen. Here she was the boss. The pots and pans were hers, the dishes, all the ingredients that fed the family. She kept us together with her mashed potatoes, green beans and meat loaf.

She nourished us with sweets made each Sunday. She poured the cereal of life into us each morning and sometimes when it was 20 below zero outside, she called from the kitchen, “Jane, French toast is ready.”

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dVerse prompt to write from a first line of a novel. I used Samuel Beckett’s “I am in my mother’s room.”

In Mother’s Room

Taradiddle

This is what happens when promises are made that cannot be delivered. I gave you weapons. I gave you training. I gave you a plan of governance. I never gave you peace and stability in your own country. I put your sons and daughters on a plane as refugees. Your wife went too and now in desperation you cling to the fuselage.

Taradiddle

Poop n Scoop

Today I counted twelve poop piles— some on the parking strip, some partially hidden in grass, more in the park. I really wanted to find one more to make it a dirty dozen but I gave up knowing it was already on the bottom of someone’s shoe. So I hope to do some shit shaming here and go for a walk where people pick up their dogs’ poo.

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NaPpWriMo prompt to go on a rant.

Poop n Scoop