Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
The pages of this lifebound by aging leathergilded letters cracked intended meaninglong forgotten No images adornthe weathered facethe colour faded shade of auburnlike my haironce upon a time Spine still sturdythreads frayingcorners curling –indicators ofa life well read. (Written for Reena’s Xploration challenge #176. Image my own.)
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To chronicle a lifeto extract truthseparate skin from soulin search of essence I try to listento the rhythmsdiagram a blueprint am discombobulated. (Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
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Travel East in search of self Half family extends unexpected warmth Is my identity here with stranger-brothers? I contemplate pausing surrendering to other But this is sleep-walking the distance still remains Journey has no end till soul has purpose and wisdom relieves the wounded child. (Submitted for Eugi’s Causerie weekly prompt:identity. Image shows an old […]
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Remember that time wading to the caves St Martin’s summer How the tide rushed in Atlantic pulling us apart my body weak with laughter How you shouted, coaxed – once ashore we collapsed wet but warm, hearts flooded. (My brother and I weren’t raised together, as his father abducted him at age 10. Reunited years […]
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A milk jug, handle turned in, was all it took for father to lather, a barrage of curses decrying our lack of worth, foaming from his mouth – spittle that remains lodged in our psyche – drug resistant venom. (Tuesdays poems come from Twitter. Follow me at @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)
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Begging, this story, brimming over bursting out I suck in, hesitate ending preset message elusive crushed beneath weight of subjectivity.
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Formative years were more destruct than construct; contradictions riddled the foundation of our familial structure: one man tyrannized five females while in the news, women marched for equality; called the likes of him a male chauvinist. Aunt drove a forklift truck, looked like a man, chalked one up for women’s liberation, didn’t talk about her […]
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Thank you to the Story Circle Network for accepting my story: Hoping to Be Missed. I am excited to report that I won first place in the Reflections Personal Essay Contest 2018. To read the story and find out more about the Story Circle Network, click here.
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School days meant up-before-dawn, carpools across town, tuna-sandwiches and rotting bananas shoved in brown paper sacks. Then home by bus – exhaust, the stench of old men, stale lunchbags, gym shoes and pre-adolescent sweat. Four blocks to home by foot, the locals taunting, the inevitable tussle – blood mixing with moldy leaves and mud. I’d […]
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The house is brand new and we move in without our mother, who is in the hospital getting our new baby. There are three floors of living space, but I am most interested in the room in the basement – the one that no one else knows exists (except my dad, of course, ’cause he […]
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