At his age, you’d expect a lot less.
At his age, you’d expect his eyes to grow wide
His mouth to open in shock,
His shoulders to rise and curl around himself in protection. Continue reading “Boy”
Tag: survival
RIP Twin Cities
This gentle giant
Ended by corrupt police
Remember George Floyd.
Hope strained, smoke-stained streets
Shattered hearts, Minnesota
Patience, as we heal.
(This, on top of COVID. And those who gather together–prayers broken by opportunistic anarchists–risk a steeper next wave in the coming weeks.)
© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2020)
Necessary Sacrifice
The spellbook was specific: one hundred candles to draw and light the circle, less one for each sorceress. Fewer, and the plague would continue. Once fully lit, the circle could not be crossed. Back to back, the three worked quickly, coaxing flame from dry wick. The twins moved clockwise, junior apprentice Bella counterclockwise. Continue reading “Necessary Sacrifice”
Storybook Pandemic
(Because we’ve all been charged to do ordinary things in these extraordinary times)
On a quest to score
Tylenol and more
Fear the unmasked ones
Kit bag, credit card
Journeywoman’s boots laced hard
Sword strapped ‘cross my back
Shields Down
She’d gotten in near midnight, after her evening shift at the group home. Her own home was a shambles: beer cans and wine bottles, scummy bong water, butts strewn all over the floor, some of them human. They weren’t supposed to be here.
Rodney emerged from the bedroom, a very drunk, half-clothed Britanny hanging off his shoulder, sharing his satiated grin.
“Sheralynn,” Rodney drew up his familiar shield of nonchalance. “I thought you were working a double shift.”
“They sent me home. Likely COVID exposure,” she wiped her brow, unsure if it was fever, or rage. “Everybody out. Now.”
Romantic Evening in Quarantine
“How long ago did you order that pizza?” Sheralynn tipped her wine glass to catch the last drop.
“Hmmm?” Rodney examined the hole in his tube sock, intent on covering up his big toe without using his hands. Continue reading “Romantic Evening in Quarantine”
Birth From Death
Karoline felt the ache in her back radiate around to her front, the pressure increasing. She breathed deeply, willing her belly to unclench. Thinking herself safe to hike alone, she’d fled her family, their sole skill for processing grief in quarreling.
Summer Memory in Winter
Unexpected, not unprecedented. Lucy opened the cabin door to a wall of snow. Stores, as well as spirits, were running low. Something had to liven the hard tack and rabbit stew, hairy root vegetables and pale wrinkled peas. Continue reading “Summer Memory in Winter”
