Lunch On Next To the Last Day

Tilted you back in the bend of my elbow, smelled lunch on your lips and there we were, two long shadows across the grass. You said you could hardly remember what we ate. You laughed when I said Spotted Dick was the main course, reminded me to be mindful, moved your lips against mine, lightly, no pressure, only lunch.

The Guestroom

This can be your bedroom, baby girl. I love it, I love it, she said. She ran to the porcelain cat curled on the nightstand. Pink! I love it. I just love it! I had told her I hoped she’d like it. She liked it, I’m sure, for me. A heart so old for a girl missing only three teeth from new gums.

Micros Born From Prompts #4: I'm Leaving Here But You Can Stay

Stop looking at me, you. The crew's behind there at the barrel. The bus ain't never coming here, not here. Go get warm and you'll forget about the projects and my metal frown. You'll like the crew. They count the smoke cubes making love to the clouds. Nevermind my suitcase, you. And nevermind where I'm going or my busted eye. Don't stare. Don't be like them, counting and laughing and sitting in one place so long they rust.

(Above: Art from Grant Bailie which served as the prompt).

Micros Born From Prompts #3: Jake

The father saw the picture again, big tears in red, a jagged oval of hairless skull. He tore off the corner with the crayon name and rolled it, snorted the blue crush until his dead son stopped drawing.

Micros Born From Prompts #2: Her Field

Sybil took to the field when it got bad. She turned her head and let the first cow she saw nuzzle close on her shoulder, its mouth a perfect silence.

Micros Born From Prompts #1 : Brother Bike

This was my brother's bike. He was simple. We painted it orange one week, rattlecans of spray and rattlemouths of laughter. Orange that week and then infection green another week. A ragged rainbow with wheels. This was my brother's bike, and now it is mine.