The Footbridge - Kathy

 playing with poetry and repetition...

The Footbridge

By: Kathy Heim

Every time we pass the footbridge

By the pond where ducks and turtles 

Sun on cement drains, 

Molly lunges at the leash, pulling

Towards the sculpture of The Stages of Life.

Every time we pass the footbridge,

When the air is warm, but the grass is wet,

And a mid morning sun casts shadows,

She checks for muddy water, stagnant and waiting

For her to plunge in, her squatty body Wiggling

Stooping chest high.  She hides behind the 

Silky overgrown grass, stays for a satisfying soak.

Every time we pass the footbridge

Where the only sounds are occasional commuter trains, 

Chirping birds, or quacks of a duck, Molly laps at 

Unfiltered water under The Stages of Life.  

Every time we pass the footbridge, 

Molly hops out, a shaking muddy mess,

Prancing, she returns to the path towards home.  

Clicking with each footstep, sniffing each chance,

Enjoying the sun on her back.

Every time we pass that footbridge, 

I wonder, will she grow 

Out of this stage of life?

10 Minute Writing Exercise #1 - Marc

10 Minute Writing #1

Wreck of the Hesperus - Marc

 Anaphora-  by Marc

“I feel like the Wreck of the Hesperus.” which is something my dad would way when he didn’t feel well.

The Wreck of Hesperus; what an odd thing to say, I often thought as a child.

The Wreck of the Hesperus; as an older child, I thought that perhaps dad was quite mad for saying it.

The Wreck of the Hesperus; why would anyone use that analogy to describe not feeling well?

The Wreck of the Hesperus; in hindsight, dad was self educated, and a prolific reader.

The Wreck of the Hesperus; perhaps it was a story of some sort?

The Wreck of the Hesperus; why would I think about that now, dad has been gone for 34 years.

The Wreck of Hesperus; Damn it, now I’m curious about where it came from.

The Wreck of the Hesperus; tells a story of a daughter and her father who die when their ship sinks in a storm.

The Wreck of the Hesperus; has nothing to do with felling ill.

The Wreck of the Hesperus; perhaps dad was quite med.

10 Minute Writing #2 Marc

 10 Minutes Writing Exercise #2   by Marc

Luis had been in the U.S. for a year, having snuck across the Southern Border one moonlit night. He believed that any country foolish enough not to patrol their borders deserved to have happen to them what he and his colleagues had planned.

The day had finally arrived, and the plans had been finalized. Luis had the van gas tank filled yesterday, and double checked the explosives in the back of the van.

He was willing to give his life up for the cause that he believed in, just hoping to take as many Godless Americans with him.

So easy, so easy he thought, as he rode towards his target. 

His GPS led him into the community, and he soon spotted the children and their parents walking toward the large tent, where Halloween treats awaited.

He gunned the engine, mowing down innocents as he roared toward the tent, thinking;

“God is great!”

10 Minute Writing #3 Marc

 10 Minute Writing Exercise #3    by Marc

“God damn it, these illegal immigrants are killing our business,” Luis yelled.

Marisol had heard this rant many times before. They owned the Te Amo Bodega on the corner of 113th Street and Arlington Ave. in the Bronx. Six months ago, the immigrants, or as Luis like to call them, the illegal cockroaches had started to arrive. At first, it was mostly women and young children, and Marisol helped these poor, lost families with food when she could.

But these had been placed in housing in Manhattan, replaced by restless, young single men. There was no place for the men, and many of them were sleeping on the sidewalks at night, and simply hanging out in front of storefronts during the day. Marisol remembered what her mother had said to her years back;

“Men, without women to civilize them, will always end up in trouble.”

The relationship between Luis and the crowd camping out in front of the Bodega had deteriorated, and Marisol was concerned.

The sound of shouting awakened her from her daydreaming, and she rushed to the sidewalk, where Luis and a group of men were arguing.

“Luis,” she cried, 

“Come inside.”

But it was too late, as the shovel crashed into Luis’s head, and the men rushed the store.

10 minute writing #4 Marc

 10 Minute Writing Exercise #4         by Marc

Marisol held her infant close to her breast. At least she is getting enough nourishment she thought. There was so much concerning her. Would her hunger ever subside? What would happen to her and her baby when the cold weather arrived? It was bad enough that the only shelter they had was a tarp to cover them at night and when it rained. And she didn’t want to recall the personal degradation she had endured to get it. Living on the sidewalk in this foreign city was not what she had imagined when she and the baby crossed the southern border months ago. The shopkeepers hated her and the others, whose only home was on the sidewalk in front of their shops.

Marisol didn’t understand how a country that welcomed immigrants, legal or not, could be so cruel as to not care as to what happened to them when they arrived. We are transparent she thought, the unseen and unheard, and sobbed softly.

But the rain had started, so she and her dear, dear child huddled under their tarp.

Waifs - Marc

 WAIFS

By: Marc

Grainy photographs of children

with hollow eyes

Make me want to reach out 

    grab them

And ask how they found

limbo

Silk, By Marc

  Haiku-  by Marc

SILK

Silk is like dancing

Closely with you at sunrise

The sea our witness

The Waiting Room - Marc

 THE WAITING ROOM

By: Marc

The door moaned its’ protest

when opened

Like a cranky old man given

a reason to complain

Leading into the room

of shadows

Lined with wooden chairs

built to cause pain

Pale adults stare

suddenly neglecting

Magazines they weren’t reading

their eyes dissecting

And when I’m certain the stillness

will become a grave

A nurse calls me, like an angel

She leads me away to save

Baba Yaga's Hut = Marc

 Baba Yaga's Hut  By Marc