Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

November 17, 2019, 03:23:41 AM
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This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti


Word of the Day
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Author Topic: Iris  (Read 51 times)
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« on: November 09, 2019, 03:13:00 PM »

   I walk through aisles with popping purple pedals peering at me in a spread out display. I feel the crush of caffeine withdrawal at 10am and I recall other Saturdays I have wasted when I have thought four cups of coffee in the hour of waking was a good idea. Besides that, it is cold and I miss my pajama pants and blanket. I listen to the crappy pop radio playing quietly on the loudspeakers while I should be listening to you, because you know what weíre doing here and you want my input. My floral expertise. My eye for irises.
   I am sorry, sometimes we do speak different languages and we experience this life in very different ways. I think you are a giver, some saint who spends all of her time thoughtfully considering her actions and how they can do the greatest good. I think I am a taker, living alone in my brain sucking everything in before slamming the door. You want me to have an opinion. But opine I will not.
   So the irises look at me with judgment and distaste. They tell you that I donít belong in your home, I do the greatest harm, I belong in a box by the curbside on bulk garbage day. You donít need their advice. You already know this. I donít know where this ďloveĒ came from that keeps you trying. But I am glad that it is there.
   We walk back through the parking lot, wind making shrill whispers, blowing the discarded chip bags between our legs. And we go home.
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