“Escape” – a Haibun

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Image by Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay

 

Escape

It will happen in the stillness and cover of night, when all are asleep. I will grab the bag I keep packed under my bed, grab my few prized possessions and put them in a satchel, and just leave. No sad goodbye notes, no see-ya-soons, not even a sorry-I-had-to-go. You won’t even know I am missing for the biggest part of the day. You will just think I am sleeping. By then, I’ve hit the bank for a withdraw and then off to the Amtrak station. You will probably think I’ve gone off on holiday to the beach, but no. I am headed to Maine. After a few days, you will assume I am still coming back, but no. I will be staying there. I won’t call, nor write, not even an email. When I do get there, I will change my name and start a new life. My life. Not the life you want me to live, not the life I should live, not even the life you thought I wanted all of these years. Did you even know me at all?

in darkness, shadowed
raven whispers her retreat
life’s wisdom, her prize

©2020 Lori Carlson. All rights reserved.


Note: Haibun is a prosimetric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku. The range of haibun is broad and frequently includes autobiography, diary, essay, prose poem, short story and travel journal. Wikipedia

Daily Post Prompt: Silence

a beautiful piece of poetic prose on Silence
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A Visit With Sandra

Today’s prompt is “Silence.”  I originally wrote the piece below well over a year ago. But it fits the prompt so perfectly that I am giving it a second airing.

Exif JPEGTHE SONG OF SILENCE

My fingers touched the keys of silence, and I played its song. It pulled from me a longing that I thought was gone forever – the yearning to release my soul in flowing words that birth new life in images and sounds that intertwine and reach another soul and draw it close to mine.

I feared my well was dry, my soul an empty sieve, and that I’d never again know a yearning to create with words that live.

Ah … now …  the peace, the solace that replaces fear. For now I know I have it still – the gift to make words living things. All it took was spending time with silence for a…

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piece by piece 

This is simply one of the rawest, most honest pieces of prose poetry I think I’ve ever read. Powerful!
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centaurus A

a flake.

a flake for each boy ive parted my lips for. making room for their pride and spitting out my dignity. swallowing every notion they give to me, as meaningless and spiteful as they sounded i absorbed them. played them back in my head a thousand times. opened my mouth to return the favor, but my words bounced right back. as if it never mattered.

a sliver.

a sliver for the boy in the blue vest, eyeing me from across the room. telling me im beautiful. more beautiful than my friends. more beautiful than his ex. more beautiful than my ex deserved. thats the part that won me. but in his head hes silently plotting the makings of an unmade bed. tussled from his satisfaction and smothered with my emptiness. his teeth are clenched because even though im beautiful, hes forgotten my name.

a piece.

a piece for all…

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At a Convenience Store, Writing Poetry

While sitting in a booth, an hour before work, I try to write poetry. But the click, click, click of the cash register distracts the musings jammed into my already clustered brain. And as I try to spill words onto this page, a you child spills her soda, the tawny liquid cascades the patterns of her too-tight T-shirt and falls to the floor ~~ the floor I will mop and mop over again, as sticky footprints retrace the night’s events. And the man, a cigar dangling from the sepia corner of his tightly clinched mouth, growls the angered growl of a wounded bear, bearing all to me and the child who hides behind her mother’s saffron sundress. And in the child’s shame, she raises two, too-large coca cola eyes to meet mine, and then lowers them as a tear trails the shadows of her sanguine face.

© 1995 Iona Nerissa