Magpie: Summer

Supple, soft skinned woman,

lounging in the dew kissed grass

her beautiful porcelain skin glistening, the sun reflects off her body, that has already kissed her blooming cheeks, her unbuttoned dress, she waits…

She relaxes in her garden, surrounded by only her friends in nature, flowers, grass, a nearby trickle of water from the fountain.

Manicured bright green grass, birds above, weaving in and out of the crisp blue sky singing their sweet songs.

Nearby, her fan rests close to her,

she is too tired to pick it up and fan herself.

She waits for the promise of her Prince to come, she is excluded by her family, by everyone. She is the rebel of the family and takes pride in that.

She has done this on purpose, she the black sheep of the family, throwing caution to the wind, waiting for her young man.

He has arrived by his dappled horse and will gasp under his breath so as not to frighten her, her eyes are now closed.

He fans her, feeds her water from the well and

carefully wraps her in his arms like he would for a precious baby.

He caresses her forehead with his soft kisses, murmurs loving words into her neck.

She smiles inwardly not letting him know that she is absolutely fine.

A Perfect Fit (By MSC)

hold my hand (Photo credit: Adam Foster | Codefor)

1)

Had there ever been a time when there was so much debris and clutter you couldn’t face it anymore? He swept it away violently from the table and left nothing, just some fractured blue glass, a bottle of ketchup and some wooden napkin holders. He insisted he was not a violent man.

“Clearing the chambers of my mind,” he called it.

He looked over his right shoulder and saw madness eclipsed in a minute: a bright plastic orange bowl holding half-eaten yellow sucking candy, an empty bottle of diet Snapple tea lying on its side, their garish red toothpaste stuck in their cracked sink, without its cap, like cement.

Books in uneven stacks that she had no interest in reading.

She refused to look at them, refused to try to see if she liked them, he bought each one of them for her, knowing she used to love to read.

Before.

It was maddening.

Her fear grew, you could smell it, raunchy, like a nasty bacterial bug spreading to all four corners of the room.

I watched her from the bed and saw her stomach clenched with tension, twinges of limbs of trees gnawing as if they grew inside her and were struggling to get out.

“Yes,” I said, to her two best friends, “” I am the infamous Jeffrey”.

 

“Do you think she settle down on her own or will she need the help of those pills?” the one with the blonde hair, Katie, asked?

One, of the hundreds and hundreds of pills, she keeps in the fake wooden drawers.

I knew better not to answer. I just shrugged my shoulders.

 

This was her life now with Jeffrey.

It had been this way now for three years.

Waiting, with him, at home, with no structure, wanting change, fearing it.

She was terrified with no reason because of no reason.

She loved him, she hated him just as much.

A double life sword. Get it?

 

It used to be very different. I used to be very different, she would say in her mind.

I was braver but also weaker, yin and yang.

But our hands still fit, perfectly, she thought. That’s gotta mean something…

The psychiatrist nods her mop of red hair knowingly but she doesn’t look convinced.

I don’t have happy memories anymore or bad ones she said. I don’t play that game anymore.

It is becoming increasingly painful.

Do I need out or in?

I’ve been in so long that it’s like being at home.

I know that when I go out, I can see the speckled orange and red leaves in the waving branches beckoning me closer.

Still, I hesitate.

Why? Physically,  emotionally? Both?

It’s hard sometimes to separate.

……….

 

Is Chivalry Dead?

Image via Wikipedia

I still like having the door held open for me and not shut in my face……..

 

Is chivalry dead? I sure hope not! My husband and I both were brought up by European parents, both of us have one German parent and one Austrian. Manners were mandated and I fully agree, we have taught out children (somewhat successfully) that having good (European) manners is expected. By no means are we strict parents either (ok, maybe we are….)  There are certain things I think that should be done and I don’t think of it as chivalry but as the right thing to do: Give up your seat on a bus or a train for someone who is elderly, incapacitated or pregnant. I know pregnancy is not a disability, I too have been pregnant twice riding the train in Boston and clutching the hand rail. It is nice to offer, some people may say “no thanks” but there will be a smile on their face when before there was none.