Poem

Artwork by Wilfreda Edward

“Sec”
Sharply Strikes
The Back Of Your Throat
To Emote Pure Disdain From It.

“U”
Slinks Through
The Centre Of The Word
To Unfurl Disgust Between Your Teeth.

“Lar”
Floats Past
Your Flaccid Tongue
And Saliva Strung, It Wreaks Of Superiority.

Ironically, Should Such An Ugly Word Associate With Anything Holy.

© Wilfreda Edward 2021

It seemed fitting that a piece on religion be part of this past Saturday’s prompt “Capitalize This”. As always J.D. Harms, thank you for the inspiration.


Sunset over Marigot Bay, St. Lucia W.I., June 2019 — Photo by Wilfreda Edward

A Prose Poem

It wasn’t easy to say good bye to you, but what choice has a child when better is promised.

With each summer in this frigid place I yearned for you, aching for the salt-seasoned air to crack the chill that glazed my lips.

What I’d give to make it back to you, to live the permanence of your tropic bliss, over the fruitlessness of occasional trips.

© Wilfreda Edward 2021

Inspired by today’s “through the city” prompt, I couldn’t narrow it down to single city because it feels like I carry the whole Island with me. Thanks J.D. Harms for any excuse that takes me home.


Prose

Artwork by Wilfreda Edward

The concrete blocks that stooped to make their front steps were as hot as fresh fiery coals by 10am. The culprit glared down, while a girl bends to buckle what could be the last stretch of her sandal’s straps. This West Indian sun shone upon her shawled shoulders to haughtily say, good morning. Straining to cast a slanted eye back up at it, she prays for rain.

She hates the sun. Especially, when today’s sac of farine waited patiently at the head of the path that led away from home. Only heat hungry tourists craved this blaze, but what did…


My father — Circa 1984

a one-line poem

Missing you is like
a constant ringing in my ear —
it’s especially loud today.

© Wilfreda Edward 2021


Artwork by Wilfreda Edward

sit shoulder-perched
and hush-lipped
wearing torrid faces
fading in and out of sordid views
seen consistently by few
but intimately known
by me and you

© Wilfreda Edward 2021


Artwork by Wilfreda Edward

“One day at a time . . .” — someone hopeful.

something happens
when wind blows
whispers of possibility
echo yes

day passes wispily
nothing shows
but furrowed brows
and tightened chests
still know
tomorrow comes

a perpetual ellipsis
promising more
and another
and again
reminders that
aches of backs
throbs of heads
faints of hearts
are not the end

but graciously
the end of today

© Wilfreda Edward 2021


Prose

Artwork by Wilfreda Edward

We sit. In a hotel room, curtains semi-drawn so that a crack of light drips through to surround us like a lull. Her customary yellow legal pad rests between us. Her ample hands drape the pencil in them, waiting tenderly for direction. She does not hesitate. She too waits for it to guide. Until they are primed, we sit.

She hums. Her baritone matches mine, the same way parts of her story does. The sound seems to erode the walls of her throat as it flows out of her. I wonder if she knew, even without words she taught me…


Artwork by Wilfreda Edward

He searches for you

through unplowed fields

or tired weeds.

He kisses the stone

above your interred feet,

to relive tears that never cease to weep.

He pours cognac to dampen

the same plot of earth

as his last visit,

whispering familiar prayers in self-deceit.

You are gone

and in desperation, he tries

to concede defeat.

© Wilfreda Edward 2021


Artwork by Wilfreda Edward

Do all memories daze this way? It emerged from a hot-boxed haze, while the shallow hush of the shower whited all noise down to a murmur. Everything seemed clear suddenly. I sat on the edge of my kinged bed, coaxing my cocked head to soak in the reflection baring itself in the mirror.

I am beautiful?

I am beautiful. The light shifted, zeroing in on every softened feature, glowing now in its age-ed splendour. Days before, I passed over these breasts for their fallen, pressed down, trodden, dissed figure. But that night they curved, unfurling smoothly and self-aware, above a…


Artwork by Wilfreda Edward

I know I disappeared. I know, I disappeared. I, know I disappeared. I know I, disappeared. I know. I disappeared. I know . . .

But I’m here now.

Wilfreda Edward

It still stuns me how a few carefully chosen and simply placed words can break my heart.

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