I Was Lost

McScarry_StrikesBack

This story is based upon several writing prompts from the Midtown Writer’s Group that came together to form the story. The prompts are in italics.

I thought I was on the correct floor, but I was lost. The car park was identical for as far as my mind could grasp. I was a child who lost his mommy and it didn’t help that my car was a rental. If I searched my mind hard, I might remember what my car looked like.

I hit the panic button on my key fob as I walked the corridors of P3. I got no response from my car, but at another car there was a knock on the door. It was the tail of a dog beating against the glass. The cocker spaniel didn’t bark. Instead it just smiled, panted and wagged its tail. I walked on: P3? Or was it…

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The door to infinity

The door to infinity opened this morning

It opened down not sideways like a normal door, which was curious

Light spilled from it gently, beckoning

Whispering in words only my heart could understand

The world around the door became more alive, but the light called

Not like a Siren’s call, but like a mother soothing a babies cry

I knew this is what I had always wanted

I knew this is what everyone wanted

I was being given a gift, a chance, an opportunity

Thoughts, doubts, fears were nowhere to be seen

I could gaze at this doorway forever or I could go in

There was no question, even though I knew I would lose myself completely

There would be no more I

I went to the doorway and was taken in

Copyright Don MacLeod

The holiday

The holidays always come faster than you think

and then they are here and you almost want them to go away

it seems to be a reminder of what you’ve lost

of the memories that once were

and the people no longer with you.

Today I have a family

but it’s not my family from birth

I try and be joyful

but I am sad.

One day

maybe things will feel differently

but until then

I celebrate for being alive

when once I thought I wouldn’t see another year.

Passage

Touch some part of me
while we wait for my soul
to be taken and crushed
like petals for scent.

I will neither enter
nor leave the room again.

Each moment
is a snowflake transforming
into a waterdrop
on a green leaf.

The border to the next land
is invisible to the naked eye
music is the only map.

I have walked away
without a word of goodbye.

You must stay on
wakeful
counting the barks of distant dogs
and the songs of the souls
needing bodies.

Copyright Kay Winter

The Glass Cutter

January, cold and bleak, the shore again imprisoned,
The lake, the house, the memory, the dream I once envisioned.
Neither animals nor I ever heard the metal snap,
Crimson blood on pristine snow, fooled by a father’s trap.

There were schools, Father said, down in Thunder Bay.
If he didn’t bring me, they could take me anyway.
I am métis, from the North, I am neither here nor there.
I didn’t understand their laws, and I didn’t really care.

He ignored my mother’s pleading cries,
Made it clear there was no compromise.
Family had become a burden, his was a trapper’s life instead.
He harnessed up the dogs, filling me with dread.

Father took me to the boarding school and told me to obey.
They would teach me to be white, to read and write and pray.
Cardinals appear to us when a loved one passes o’er,
I saw the Cardinal that day in all his red-robed splendor.

I learned his Catechism, I learned to read and write,
And what the Cardinal prefers when he calls for me at night.
I was scared and broken.  I hid the fear and bleeding.
I looked for solace in the moon, as my ache began receding.

Star shine danced upon the snow and it beckoned me with light,
The flakes like fractured bits of glass called me forth into the night.
Winter into spring, then with summer on the way
I said a word to no one, I just walked away one day

Many nights the sky was graced by northern lights displays,
A Superior reflection all the way to Grand Marais.
Electric hues that lit the sky, arching pinks and greens
Like a whispering collection of colored figurines.

I came to stay in Grand Marais, a quiet little place,
For in that pine-draped sleepy town, I found my saving grace.
A man of silence, skill and sight, a man whose name was Kirk,
A glass cutter by trade, he explained to me his work.

Church window panes, he said, as he cut and cracked the glass,
As he soldered the lead, to make it worthy of High Mass.
He fused the light together, he captured colors of the sun.
He created brilliance, love, and beauty, for the Father and the Son.

The colored hues inside me bled, like a prism in my veins,
Planted where the flame had fed, then purified by rain.
There must have been a reason our lives had intertwined,
Where colors come together, white light starts to shine.

Through Kirk I came to see small shards of redemption.
Patterned after love and hope, and nurtured with attention.
Like a cathedral calls us home, Kirk had shone a light,
And my dark and withered soul found colors in the night.

copyright Dec 2016
by csherar

 

 

Middle School

Minnehaha Middle School,

Grades 5 through 8.

 

We had butt ugly brown and yellow tote bags

for our gym clothes.

 

We were the first class to use

the new band room,

 

the new locker room,

classrooms and library.

 

I had Mrs. Sega,

then Mr. Schreyer,

 

then B.J. and finally Black Joe.

These were my homeroom teachers.

 

I was in love with both the Widen girls

cos they were twins

 

(Cindi and Wendy) and

I couldn’t tell them apart.

 

I had my dad for band.

I wanted to play the drums, but

 

he said, I’ve got ten drummers already.

You’ll play the French horn.

 

Thank God for basketball

at Minnehaha Middle School.

 

 

 

 

-Copyright Timothy Downs

Dance

If you put your head on my chest,

you can hear my heart playing the drums.

If you put a seashell up to your ear,

you can hear the Beatles.

If you put your ear to the ground,

you can hear the earth ticking.

It won’t be long now until

you and I and everything

are buried by water and sand and

all of this,

the fighting and the fucking,

will mean nothing.

Look at the stars.

Turn the music up.

Let’s

dance.

-Copyright Timothy Downs