The Shelved Ragdoll

She sat

Quietly

Patiently 

Abeyante and still

Eyes stitched closed 

And decorated 

By thick lashes

Relying only on sound

To tell her when her

Steadfast Tin Soldier 

Was near 

The Magician's Coinpurse

I wish I had a 

penny for every moment 

you don't think of me. 

Human 76 and Sheshwahtay

Author's note: I always intended this blog to be about my work. I never wanted to tell a story before I told a story, and I never felt the need to add my personal voice to it. This post is a little something different. I've been lucky enough to be included in an anthology unlike anything I've ever read. And now here I am on Publishing Eve, trying to keep my shit together while my lifelong dreams finally  spread their wings. It's frightening and beautiful and awesome. It's intimidating and amazing. And it certainly wouldn't be possible without you, the reader.
So I give you a little snippet of my short story, Sheshwahtay, included in the Human 76 anthology. Enjoy.....and Sheshwahtay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Horns was up to his shenanigans again. 

“Give it here!” Red Foot screamed at her older brother. “Give me the doll!” She chased after him as he danced around her, holding the delicate, hand-made cornhusk doll just out of reach. 

“You’ll have to fight harder than that to get it, Little Sister. Catch me if you can!” He followed his taunt with a teasing look, and he took off at a sprinter’s pace down the foot path toward the creek.  

Red Foot’s shoulders slumped as she watched her brother’s slim build vanish into the wood. The last thing she could see before he disappeared under the dark canopy was the flame of his unruly, red curls. “Awww, forget it. You’re not worth it, Two Horns,” she said as her defeated gaze shifted downward. She balled up her tiny fists and hollered after him, “You’ll be back for dinner anyway!” 

Summer was giving way to autumn. The leaves had just started to turn magnificent shades of yellow and red. The sun took its leave earlier and earlier each evening. Nights brought that undeniable, crisp smell of impending winter. Yet somehow everything seemed colder than past years.  I feared the effects of the Blast were finally beginning to creep into our home. I’d spent 37 years on this mountain, and I could feel things were changing. There was more of a bite in the winds that blew into our home. The skies were more grey. And winter was still a long way off. 

 

 

 

 

buriedAlive

Can't breathe

The air too thick

To draw breath 

Suffocating

Crushing

Slow motion death 

No mercy

No hope for

A quick end

To the agony 

silentScreams

So many times

The words are right there

Begging to be spoken

Each time they 

Are barricaded 

By fear

By insecurity

By demons

So the clock keeps turning

And the world keeps spinning

And nothing is really different 

On the outside 

Internal civil war

Rages 

A battle

You'll never see

Burrows of Burden

Terrible burden 

And I carry it alone 

Alone 

Alone down the hole

No one willing to follow me

Into darkness 

The deepest recesses

Are frightening alone

Alone 

Alone I scurry

Trying to balance the weight

And wanting to scream

And tell the world 

But I need to make it down

My rabbit hole farther

So that nobody hears

Terrible terrible

Horrible truths

That only my back 

Can carry 

Three Hundred Sixty Five Yesterdays

There was no way

For you to remember

And impossible

For me to forget

The time flies

And crawls

Simultaneously

And I can't let go

Of things I never held