OctPoWriMo Day 8: The Sickness
She fades in and out of the haze trying to grasp reality.
Her new cough and shaky breath have become her banality.
High fevers and hot sweats plague the entirety of her nights,
As white blood cells guard the body in ongoing fights.
She keeps tissue on the end table hoping she doesn’t reach her end.
She sips tea for her sore throat praying the hot lemon will help mend.
Red medicine and orange cough drops stain the surface of her tongue,
And staying alive to see the sunrise again is her only idea of fun.
OctPoWriMo Day 9: Writing Prompt “Tapping the Ash of Her Cigarette”
The early morning fog from my balcony slowly burns away.
The rising ball of fiery energy begins to warm the surrounding cool air,
And we continue to sit there gazing upon the new day
Sipping coffee, watching the sunrise, and not having anything yet to say.
I wipe the sleep from my eyes while you grab a match.
You unpack a filtered stick as I shield the toast from coming smoke that we share.
I nibble on a piece of buttered bread from the now protected batch,
And she, tapping the ash from her cigarette, should go on the patch.
OctPoWriMo Day 10: Her Perfume
Her perfume is the subtle smell of aircraft fuel wafting off of blue overalls
It smells of hard work and adversity of women working in a man’s world.
Her smell is expensive soap and hair care products packaged as aerosols.
She smells of warmed oils from hot irons and long hair that is curled.
Her perfume is the dedication and lost sleep from working years on the graveyard shift.
She smells of sacrifice from when she bused us around to every dance class or gym practice.
Her smell is hot chocolate and thoughtful presents because she treats every day like a gift.
She smells of kindness, sweeter than White Diamonds, from the love she shares with us.
OctPoWriMo Day 11: Green
Tall grass in the breeze,
The leaves on giant redwoods
—We see less in fall.