I shouldn’t have to ask, but I do

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I shouldn’t have to ask, but I do

If I disappeared, would I be missed?
And for how long exactly, if I was?

If I went away, would I be followed?
And, found, would I then be brought back?

If I suddenly got terribly lost –
out there in the wilderness –
would there be a search party
leading to a subsequent discovery, an eventual happy reunion?

I shouldn’t have to ask,
feel insecure about the answer,
But, somehow, I do.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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The winters here are long

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The winters here are long

A rabbit sits in a field, chewing grass.

Nearby, a tractor turns the earth
ripping weeds from the rugged surface.

I stand and watch from the road,
eager to learn more about the landscape.

The winters here are long
and I yearn for company.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

 
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The torso that carried the skeleton

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The Torso that carried the skeleton

The cold invaded her bones, chilling her to her center, stalling and stopping all that wanted more than anything now to grow. Small shoots, only yesterday pointing upwards, carrying distant promises and cradling soon-to-be-loved dreams, curled under and back into, attempting to relocate the not-so-long-ago bid-farewell-to space from whence they had only recently emerged. Shivering, tensing up, the torso that carried the skeleton constricted, pulling backwards and against.

Reversing, she peddled the wrong way, yesterday reaching out and waving, last week extending long-nailed hands. The year just gone by stepped forward to greet her and with it the cloying grip of the past long-since departed but not yet laid to rest tugged hard.

Grey and black descended. Corners crept in, chaperoning shadows that sat down and spread out.

Sighing, averting her eyes towards instead of away, she met them all politely with a resigned smile. Tomorrow she would stand up and fight. Tomorrow she would take back and repossess. Tomorrow, with her hoe and can, she would get watering and planting. Today, however, was much too early. She was still exhausted from yesterday and the long journey of getting there.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

To keep up to date with my progress and receive a copy of my newsletter, send me your email address.

• View or buy my work at my online portfolio
• Save 30% and buy from me direct
Learn more about my work and the inspiration that guides it
• Keep up to date with my progress and receive a copy of my newsletter

The torso that carried the skeleton

20140520-175552-64552775.jpg

The Torso that carried the skeleton

The cold invaded her bones, chilling her to her center, stalling and stopping all that wanted more than anything now to grow. Small shoots, only yesterday pointing upwards, carrying distant promises and cradling soon-to-be-loved dreams, curled under and back into, attempting to relocate the not-so-long-ago bid-farewell-to space from whence they had only recently emerged. Shivering, tensing up, the torso that carried the skeleton constricted, pulling backwards and against.

Reversing, she peddled the wrong way, yesterday reaching out and waving, last week extending long-nailed hands. The year just gone by stepped forward to greet her and with it the cloying grip of the past long-since departed but not yet laid to rest tugged hard.

Grey and black descended. Corners crept in, chaperoning shadows that sat down and spread out.

Sighing, averting her eyes towards instead of away, she met them all politely with a resigned smile. Tomorrow she would stand up and fight. Tomorrow she would take back and repossess. Tomorrow, with her hoe and can, she would get watering and planting. Today, however, was much too early. She was still exhausted from yesterday and the long journey of getting there.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

To keep up to date with my progress and receive a copy of my newsletter, send me your email address.

• View or buy my work at my online portfolio
• Save 30% and buy from me direct
Learn more about my work and the inspiration that guides it
• Keep up to date with my progress and receive a copy of my newsletter