Saturday, May 6, 2017

My GloPoWriMo 2017 Favourites

Photo Credit: maggy le saux Flickr via Compfight cc

My Grandmother, the Weaver of Rugs

She knew spells.
She talked to the stars and
they listened.
That's how she took my fever away.
Her fingers, like talons,
moving swiftly.
The red rug, my dowry, she said.
When she thought no one was watching,
she cried to herself about something.
Then she took off her scarf.
Her braided hair fell to the floor, still copper red.
I don't remember well what she looked like,
but sometimes I catch a glimpse of her in the mirror.
We are the same age now.
I have never tried to weave a rug or cast a spell,
but blood is thicker than water
and some things are passed on
as dowry.

GloPoWriMo Day 10

Assignment - Square
Photo Credit: barbaragaillewis Flickr via Compfight cc

A Button

Something was in the post today.
A plain blue envelope, no address.
Inside, a white button.
Maybe someone came undone on a bus.
Perhaps they were trying to reach home,
and the button didn't make it.
Maybe it happened in a dark alley,
or in an office after work.
Or it was one of those seedy hotels
and the husband never suspected.
Did the button come off willingly,
or was it forced off?
I don’t know why it was sent to me.
My eyes have grown weak.
I can't thread the needle any more.
I was never really good at sewing anyway.

GloPoWriMo Day 7

Uma Paladares
Photo Credit: _luizfelipe Flickr via Compfight cc


I don’t know what this is.
It is something foreign and mysterious.
The taste of mushrooms on a rainy day.
The taste of soil and smoke.
Salty like the sea and tart like buckwheat bread.
Stubborn like newly plucked nettles.
Something like Brie and red wine,
something like fresh beets, like aubergines in September.
That’s what they say it is.
And, though I like all those things,
I still don’t know what umami is.
It is something foreign and mysterious,
like wasabi and za’atar,
like harissa and garam masala,
like ras el hanout and saffron.
It must be something very expensive and hard to find
like truffles.

GloPoWriMo Day 27

Photo Credit: txmx 2 Flickr via Compfight cc

The Wrong Door

This is not where I should be.
I must have opened
the wrong door.

The pen wasn’t worth stealing.
Nothing comes out
when I shake it.

I didn't know I had a twin.
I thought it was me
writing this.

GloPoWriMo Day 9