These historical figures hold a key that unlocks the mysteries of the past. They can help paint pictures that dive into the very heart of humanity.
Sometimes I find myself missing literature that I have not and probably will not ever read. I sit in the immaterialized section of reality hidden deep within my conscious to see the book of poems—forever lost—that I will never see.
With her wide eyes poking out from within the tree’s bent branches, she tells us that she is in charge and that we must celebrate the holidays her way with sparkly objects mistaken for cat toys scattered about the house. She knows that we will fix the tree once more and pet her again. In the back of my mind, I consider the engineering needed to mount the Christmas tree to the ceiling.
I refuse to use the grey mug sitting in the corner of the room. I glance over in its direction and watch it staring at me…
It was part of my weekly routine. I would walk into the loud local coffee shop downtown and write for an hour or so after work before going home. It was the only way I would be sure that I got some writing in, and the only other opportunity where I could relax while eavesdropping on people.
The lingering moisture that gathered in the air has always done that to me. Perhaps a bit of the past was carefully mixed in along with the misty fog too.
It’s an encouraging starting point, a way to help you organize, and an inspiring task crafted to lure the average writer out to do what they love best—write.
You tell me that where you’re from
a pitcher full of this on a porch
was all anyone needed.
It was a link to the past,
a connection to the future,
and it quenched
wandering mid-day thoughts.
And then it happened without warning.
Many of those same kids
now in high school or off to college
don’t come by your house anymore.
They no longer call on the phone.
glide past sounds from our television.
As you sit down and hold my hand
you unravel decades of history.