Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

“My broomstick’s stuck.” “What did you power it with?” “Fresh pomegranate juice.” “You’ve been reading too much Natural Witchkeeping again.”

Guarding the road, gun drawn, pulse stuttering like flailing hooves, he waited. Hoofbeats announced it. Heart-steed bore his love, set free.

Roses are red. Violets are blue. Words left unsaid can tantalize too; feathery breaths on the back of the neck burning or freezing too soon.

Red tantalizing lips are hers to smile with, his to kiss, & feathery petals touch his cheek. Her rose has thorns. He weeps beside her stone.

One day he leapt from the train, umbrella in hand for the Portland rain, & a timeslip froze him to Pioneer Square, where he forever remains.

Lost without sight, stand still, for tailless strangers strut, their stage unfilled & scenes undone. Bombsite remains to tell of peace unwon

He’d only thought to add another hour to the day. But one strong stick, place wrong, jammed heaven’s gears to trap us all eternally in night

Soon after they met, dad visited mum at her parents’ home. He pressed his suit on her ironing board. She sewed puppets. The rest is history.