Process Note
After reading a few days ago Candy Don't Come In Gray by Roslyn Carrington, and attending a meet-the-author session with my book club; i was inspired to write this poem about my favourite character in the book 'MATTIE'. This poem is not saying that this is all there is to Roslyn's Mattie, but rather my impression, meeting and observing Mattie in a very brief encounter in one of the chapters of the book. I'm sharing in response to Fireblossom's prompt
You've heard about the Monday Blues ❧✿❧ well this is Monday WRites (musing on the definition here of rite, as any customary observance or practice eg the rite of afternoon tea).
Welcome to Monday WRites #99, ❧✿❧ What's your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites
EVER WONDERED HOW THE FIRST ORCHID GOT THERE...JUST SAYING
When the salt torched her skin, she shrieked like ten thousand banshees bumping into age-old trees in the jungle. They has banished her to the heart of the jungle, calling her a witch. Only because the King (i don't remember his name now) loved her so much. She was the most beautiful woman in her tribe. (i dont rightly remember the name of her tribe now either)
She knew then for sure, they didn't want her around anymore. Her pride was hurt, and her heart was beating lapses of lemons. Not even Anancy in all his trickery mastery, could revenge her, she thought. So she withered, right there in the jungle.
epiphyte - A plant, such as a tropical orchid or a staghorn fern, that grows on another plant upon which it depends for mechanical support but not for nutrients. Also called aerophyte, air plant.
Today Magaly gave us a list of really really funny titles, and asked us to be inspired to write a poem or story after choosing one from her given list. I chose: #12. People Who Don’t Know They’re Dead: How They Attach Themselves
to Unsuspecting Bystanders and What to Do About It, by Gary Leon Hill
ORANGE BUTTERFLY
orange butterfly -
flight of fanciful thoughts spin
the stuff of dreams
"Ah I see you have cut off your dread locks. You look very handsome. I was just about to get dressed for church. Would you like to go to church with me. We can carry the gran with us. I will have to get her ready though.
I have never seen you with your hair cut this low. Do you remember when we first met? Your hair was styled in a blown out Afro. You looked handsome then too. But I like this older more somber, matured look.
After being apart for so long and living with this longing to see you, it was so shocking to see you in grey dreadlocks. I had seen photos you sent to your mother when the dreadlocks were still young-looking.
One of your friends had met me on Frederick Street one day. She told me she had seen you in Brooklyn and she was shocked at how old you looked. She said,she had stopped to talk to you and when she was finished talking to you and walked away. Her little grandson of five asked her. Granny is that your grandfather. I smiled at that story. Still not in my wildest imaginings ever thinking I would see you looking this way.
I couldn't grieve at Uncle Lincoln's funeral. Not because I wasn't sad at his passing. No, not so at all. I couldn't grieve because I was so happy to lay eyes on you again. Isn't life strange? A happy family - was that too much of me to ask of life?
Maybe this was your uncle's way of saying to me I know how much you love your husband. Be happy. Don't be sad."
The light of morning is my gift on returning from dreamscape; where colours are real, only more intense and longing is etched, only deeper.
