7 Word Sunday – We Are…

7WS
Nonchalant sunlight sprinkles handfuls of cosmic dustImage

photo credit:https: http://ak8.picdn.net/shutterstock/videos/2607977/preview/stock-footage-specks-of-dust-floating-a-beam-of-light.jpg

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All to Dust

What price memories?
All are felled with the vast claw
of progress.
…..

and a boulder (sorry)

From the newly revealed houses opposite, one of the residents takes a photo of the dust-blanketed Mercedes that sits huddled on his driveway. He gets in his car and dulled rear headlights emerge through the fog of disinterest that permeates the site. Our teacher comments that her car is over there somewhere too. With a rising sense of foreboding, I realise where my own is…directly behind the man-made mountain that now fills the space before our eyes.

Gleeful at having found such a handy parking space, one of many in a usually packed street, I dashed in to work without coming to a logical explanation for this unexpected bounty.

The children’s faces mirror my look of horror when I blurt out this realisation and they turn to me with round eyes and open mouths.
Thoughts of volcanic ash clouds and what happens to plane engines flit through my increasingly irrational mind as I go to collect my car. It has almost completely changed colour from a usual metallic green to a greying beige, glowering sullenly to me as I approach. I offer a few words to any kind spirit that might be listening before turning the key in the key in the ignition.

It is only us who are choked by the destruction of this place so filled with memories. The engine flares to life.

Passing On

As we sit around the table for my Dad’s birthday my Mum says quietly, “See this ruby ring that I had for my 40th wedding anniversary? I want Florrie to have it when I’m gone.” I look at her.
“You are having my engagement ring and I want Florrie to have this one.” The ring moves a little on her knuckle as she touches it. She seems determined that I will agree to do this for her. “Okay.” I say after a moment.
Florrie, who is deep in conversation with my Dad, looks over at me and says, “Are you ok? You look a bit sad.” I realise that this is supposed to be a joyful birthday celebration for my Dad. He is seventy eight today and my Mum was eighty in the summer. Yes I’m sad.
I smile, as expected, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.

Changing Roles

Pivotal,

my place.

Like a seesaw –

perpetual motion…mother…daughter…

transient.

‘Til the end of time (Ghazal)

The essence of waiting is to quietly be
Patient, not distract, just quietly be.

Be still as the dawn and open to change,
To have courage to act on what will be.

And what if that time should still its face?
Future, no longer fact, can cease to be.

The sands will run out and the tide will turn
To make no pact – all will simply not be.

I am Helen, yet not, and one day hence
A final redact, then all I will be…

Six words for Sunday – Limbo

Ever feel you are just waiting…?

Six Word Saturday – New Term

31.8.13

Holiday end – where has it gone?

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