A ration of time, just
a fraction. But
fractured.
Hard to schedule, hard
to please. Dreaded.
Can be dreadful when
not in a zoned-out,
zen-like space. In
laws and in lives some
things are not meant
to be. Human
frailty.
Dis-ease, these
disjointed
hours. He’s cracking
his knuckles. She’s
cutting off her nose.
In spite.
Written for Flash Fiction 55, now hosted by the lovelies over at imaginary garden with read toads.
.
13 comments:
How we do those few spare minutes, especially when we can't really climb off the merry-go-round, is so important. I used to do both the knucle cracking and cutting off the nose ... but with those fragments now united, zen is possible. Fine poem.
Wonderful Lydia! You also qualify as one of 'the lovelies.'
ooh very nice. your playfulness with the words emphasizes the dread somehow. in spite of yourself. :)
How fun!
Oh I love that ending. You got it to a tee, my friend.
Spare, yet ingenious.
Very nice.
love the wordplay here...so hard to find one's own space...very well crafted
fine pen and twisting ending ~
Cracking knuckles.. quite a good reason to be spiteful
ah yes OBLIGATION- almost impossible to do if crunched for time and not able to take a deep breath and make the space in time.
Excellent Lydia!
used the words nicely to convey your idea well with a thoughtful ending!!Smiles:))
You have mastered "obligation" in an angular way in your poem. Your words are similar to real life when one is obligated. -- barbara
Hello Lydia, thank you for your recent visit and commenting. I hope all is well for you. Time itself can indeed become dreadful without the peace found in those "zen-like space(s)." But oh, the sound of those cracking knuckles!
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