Waiting–dVerse Haibun Monday

Photo: David Slotto

Photo: David Slotto

Waiting
a Haibun

Anna waited. And waited. Her room, dark except for light seeping through half-drawn blinds, smelled musty, old. Dust motes danced where sun invaded. Aside from that, there was little activity. Even her old cat, Flossie, lay motionless on the rumpled covers of her bed.

They hadn’t called for at least two weeks. No one called or came to visit anymore. She wasn’t sure why she even had a landline, but she wasn’t about to try to figure out those smart gadgets that all the young folk held continuously in their hands, their eyes locked on the screen. No one had the time or patience to teach her all that fancy stuff.

Outside the window she heard birdsong. Even the birds had something to say to each other. Anna pulled herself slowly to her feet and went to fill their feeder. What else would fill the hours?

in spring, finches’ songs
fill the empty hours, the void
without them, nothing

Please join in for dVerse Haibun Monday where we are talking about communication! The link will be open all week! The doors open today at 3:00 PM EDT

Bipolar–dVerse Poetics

solitaire

While this story is fictional, I have worked with patients and friends who have bipolar disorder. The prompt that our gifted Claudia Schoenfeld offers today at dVerse Poetics, challenges us to engage in conversation. We’ve all experienced self-talk, I’m sure. You’re invited in to eavesdrop.

Bipolar

“Look outside,” I tell you.
But you ignore both me
and the hawk posed upon
our redwood fence,

striated tail in tones
of golden brown and black.
“Hurry,” I say, “You’ll miss him.”
Your shoulders slump,

unblinking eyes fix upon the screen,
follow the red jack you drag
over to the queen of spades.

Was it just last Wednesday?
You dragged me to the mall,
paid in credit for a Persian rug,
paid with money we don’t have.

Golden brown and black
and orange and red—the colors
that you coveted,
and here you are.

Your silence screams, echos
down the hall. Dissipates
into the shadows.

You coax the final king
and plop him on his queen.
The monitor explodes in
bursts of color.

Slamming the laptop shut,
I hurry to my room,
ignoring crimson leaves
and gold.

My medication sits,
untouched for days,
beside my bed.

Sidle up to the bar with us at dVerse Poetics and listen in to some more conversation. Bring a poem of your own…