...quiet, about a lot of things...

This prompt, like time itself, could go so many different ways. Even now, fingers poised to pounce, I don't know which way to turn.


Double knots and Dragons

The tears he shed fell easily.
Too easily.The hot red flush
on his cheek made the other
boys only laugh more. The door
was too far away to run. They
would catch him in two steps.

He may be dumb,
but he's not that dumb.

He had reminded mom about
the double knots. Had she
listened, or was she still mad
about the sheets? Hiding his head, he
felt shoulders shake too much. Not
Good. A sitting duck with tangled laces
is never good.

He wished the blacktop
to swallow him whole. In one gulp.
Without a sound,leaving only his shoe.
(but wishes are for babies.)

The touch he felt next was
not a shove, or a smack or a
fist at all. It was a barely there
puff, a pause, a breath. (Hadn't
mrs morris said when you take a breath
its a comma?) The touch he felt was a comma.
Between sobs, a comma, lifting only
the top of his head to peak.

At first he thought his wishing fairy
was a tablecloth for a picnic.
But as she bent down,he saw his mistake.
His wishing fairy was plain as Tuesday
in the lunchroom. Her hands covered
in the skin like an ordinary garden lizard.
There was no sparkle about her.

Her hair covered her eyes as she worked,
saying something about bunnies and spilt milk.
He was on his feet. She brushed off his bottom
like mom wipes a dish before it goes in the
cupboard. And then another comma. She squared
his shoulders in her hands. Only then, he
noticed her eyes.

She wasn't a fairy. No, not at all.
She was a dragon. Her eyes gave it away.
Had she been a dragon all along?

He braced himself in her clutches.
Flames were worse than fists.
Least, when he died, he'd have tied laces.

"Very few battles are won on your bottom.
Very few battles are lost on your feet.
Keep your chin up, and your shoes tied.
If you don't know how, ask for help.
and be careful what you wish for.
There's always a surprise at the end of
the story. Save your tears for the sad
parts. The bell has rung. Don't be late."

In straight lines, they marched back in.
More battles. More struggles.More tears.
But his time, was different.
He had double knots and a dragon.
Let the battle begin.

wlf 10:30

This really isn't a poem..just easier for me to write that way, I guess. Also I trying to appease the scribble goddesses...as I didn't write last Sunday...the character study.. Perhaps this can count as both??? Please? Pretty Pretty Please...

For more...Hurry, now, don't Dawdle...get to Sunday Scribblings!