Treat: from the perspective of Child Me

via Daily Prompt: Treat

Prompt Word: Treat

My brother (the Tall Boy who does no wrong) and I silently cheer in the back seat as my grandmother (thinning hair, perpetual Smile) turns right into the ice cream store parking lot. Time skips–cone in my hand, liquid sugar dripping down my hand, blind to the future on a chocolate high.

I’m a new blogger, and I would love for y’all to check out my posts/sketches!

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Poem: Mary

Manicured lawn divides

Lawyer-man with glossy wife

From converse-, apron- clad

Mary, our copper haired collegian

 

Teachers haven’t stopped for her,

Empty corner desks can’t stand in Progress’s Way

His office chair looks out on Power Alley

 

20-something interns learn the art

Of turning profit while their professor

Holidays, golf balls streak across September sky

Mary watches them with aqua eyes

And ties her apron with debter’s hands

They’ll serve breakfast to save tuition

 

The model-gone-Broker’s wife glances

And hates the would-be student for

The life Mary is free to build or burn

To My Dear Mr. Moon

And with that, I hesitate–my heavy boot dangling in the air just outside my car’s door. 

The moon’s rays ricochet off the trees and draw my gaze upward, his single eye reflecting my world. Yet this small mirror-circle also transforms it as his muted light casts a spell on the sleepy neighborhood. When I wave to the celestial figure, I hear no reply. But something tells me he’ll be waiting to see me again tomorrow night. His elders travel through their seasons in constellation caravans, but the lunar fellow stays at our side. He hears the tides cry out for him to keep his demure, unshakable course. Good night, my friend. 

About Me

Willow Grey in terms of her ideal day:

As clouds overtake the sun, I’d leave with book, pencil, and textured paper in hand. Let rain and cold meet me with my knit cap and scrappy boots, and I’ll walk till I can no more. 

I’d find a tree-friend and linger there–reading and writing what no one who knows me thinks I can.

As night replaces dusk, fireflies emerge to watch their cosmic counterparts dot infinity. Prayers take hold of my pen, asking God to join our reverential party.