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Hoarder

Hoarder

There are moments caught between heart-beats that fall into crevasses where they nourish our dreams. Streaming rivulets that escape our conscious daylight world swell these moments until they become full-grown nightly adventures––what we have hoped blended with what else might be possible, tempered by fears and regrets. What part of us orchestrates these dreams has never been discovered––some grand arranger of self that does not allow itself to be controlled by any conscious part of us, perhaps. It is a cinema we construct for ourselves—a relief from or a censor of or a collector of those parts of ourselves we would otherwise not deal with. Those parts of ourselves we struggle to forget and throw away? There is no detritus in our lives. Some great hoarder within us reaches out a hand to capture and arrange them, then calls them dreams.

 

The dVerse Poets Pub prompt today was to write a 144-word flash fiction piece making use of the first sentence in my essay above.

Equal to the Challenge?

Equal to the Challenge?

Whereas  the stage of life for folks my age is likely terminal,
the young are at a stage that is best described as germinal.

They boomerang through life, it seems, from one thing to another—
from party girl to partner, to wife and then to mother.

Their progress through this life is one that we have laid the ground for.
Where we have already been is likely where they’re bound for.

Those obstacles that soured us are ones we hope they’ll solve.
I guess that is the means by which humans must evolve.

War, disease and famine, global warming through pollution—
 we set up each problem. Will they create the solution?

Prompt words today are boomerang, terminal, young, sour and progress.

Dusty Miller and Friend, FOTD Feb 15, 2020

IMG_5532

I bought this wood carving at the orchid festival in Mazamitla. I love its primitiveness. It wanted to come stand under the dusty miller and amidst the ferns.

For Cee’s FOTD