The Boxes… #layers #alittlehorror

Here’s the prompt from the talented Reena Saxena @ xploration challenge

“I have untapped abilities waiting to be discovered.”

If you find it complex, you can use Layers as a theme for your piece.

*

It was a journey that I look back upon and wish I had never begun. There are many layers to this journey. Too many…

It began with a wonderful life with an intelligent, witty, charming partner. I couldn’t have asked for more enjoyment. We shared many of the same interests: poetry, writing, going on adventures and playing games.

I wish now (for his sake) that I had never ever had a curiosity for boxes but I always had. There is something about lifting the top of a box if only to peek inside the corner. Boxes seemed potentially to hold treasure.

My interest in boxes is now a curse but I’m slightly ahead of this story.

The home I moved into with my husband had a basement filled with boxes. There were thousands of them. Some were very big while others were quite small.

“What’s in the boxes?” My curiosity to open each box caused me to ask.

“I don’t know. Most of them were left by the man I bought the house from. He was my auntie’s husband. Some of the boxes were dropped by my brothers and others left by my former wife. Those over there are my own.” He pointed to a neat stack of games. Many of those games we had already played with friends or family.

With too much time on my hands, I started looking at the boxes from a distance. They did not belong to us but they were in our home.

Then on a cold windy day, I opened the first one. It was a pretty box with shiny ribbon. There was a beautiful poem written with a lady’s elegance.

I put the box away, walked up the stairs and reflected on the beautiful poem. I got out my own poetry journal and began to write. My husband later remarked that these were the best poems I had ever written.

It snowed a few days later and I again went down the stairs to open one box. This box had blue geometric shapes on it. There was a note inside that said:

You should look under the third tree to the right of the boundary. there is something interesting there.”

“It’s too cold.” I said to the note carefully putting the top back on the box. “Let’s see what’s in one more.”

“Listen to what you read or someone could end up dead.” A note was written in large bold print with a hefty exclamation point.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

A box fell on the flor. I opened it.

“No!!!” Even bolder letters stated.

I can’t tell you how fast my heart was beating but it was fast I assure you. I tried to calmly put each note back into their respective boxes and then back on the shelf they had come from. I turned to find the them back on the floor. Another had fallen and the lid off. The note opened “GO!”

“Okay I’m going.”

This time I left the boxes and grabbed gloves and a shovel. I forgot a winter jacket.

“What am I doing?” I spoke to the shovel as I walked toward the boundary of our property.

The tree looked slightly different from the others and I knew it was the right one. I dug. I didn’t need to dig too deep. There I found the bones that had belonged to a woman’s hand.

Not knowing what to do I put the hand back in the hole and covered it. I then went to the basement to put the boxes away and lock the door to the basement.

Another box had fallen and the note said “put it in here.”

I screamed.

“The hand?”

Another box fell. I didnt even bother to read it.

I rushed upstairs grabbed a bag to put the hand in. I wrapped the hand, covered the hole, ran back to the basement, put the hand in the box, taped that box together with all the tape I could find, put the rest of the boxes that had opened away, ran out of the room, locked the door, went upstairs, made some tea, look a long sigh.

I forgot about the shovel until my husband came to me with the shovel and a note…

Did I mention my undiscovered ability (underdiscovered) is as a closet horror writer?

Memory’s Harvest #haiku

At the beginning of September I came back to my birthplace. Nothing of my mother remained. The grass in front of mother’s room had withered in the frost. Everything had changed. The hair of my brother and sisters was white and they had wrinkles between their eyebrows. We could only say, “We are fortunate to be still alive.” Nothing more. My elder brother opened an amulet case and said reverently to me, “Look at mother’s white hair. You have come back after such a long time. So this is like the jewel box of Urashima Taro. Your eyebrows have become white.” We wept for a while and then I composed this verse:

if taken in my hand
it would vanish in hot tears
autumn frost
© Basho (Tr. Jane Reichhold)

dirt

The soil was where our story began ~

We were farmers and during the coldest winter,  harshest depression, or strictest rationing, we always had a spare morsel for someone with empty hands. Great grandfather passed down a love for the harvest; his son carried forth that responsibility. Some of us shared that love for the land while others tried to get the last dime from her. Dimes are spent rapidly and with little memory. The land has been faithful and gives back to those who dig deep…

still warm to the touch

memories flow with the tears

you have never failed

crops

 

The Carpe Diem  prompt  today is from the wonderful haibun from Basho. “If taken in my hand” fills me with new and old memories as my hands return to the soil this season.

 

 

 

My Walking Stick #haiku #photography

along the way
an old oak branch
becomes a walking stick

~Garry Gay

poised you wait

each journey etched in your skin

adventure at hand

In the spirit of Garry Gay’s haiku we are prompted by Kristjaan at Carpe Diem to echo his words.

Ripples of Compassion #haiku #kindness #poetry #photography

the smallest act of kindness can have a ripple effect on our world

Ripples of Life

Your outstretched hand

reaching toward wounded soul

fingertips meet

*

fingertips meet

heart warmed with kindness’ smile

reflect in the sky

*

reflect in the sky

ripples of  compassion

circle the earth

It is so refreshing that the smallest act of kindness can have a ripple effect

Thanks to Kristjaan at Carpe Diem for prompting us to reflect upon compassion.

Photography: “Ripples of Life” © L. Moon 2012

Hand in Glove

Your glove

serving

purpose

warmth

protection

My hand

giving

working

tasks

function

The hand in the glove

each

caught

by

the other

The glove

where the hand

fits

perfectly

comfortably

The hand

fitted with  the glove

sharing warmth

filling

it with love

Together – they are one!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/technowannabe/484738643/                           http://www.flickr.com/photos/goodncrazy/5415447242/lightbox/

Letting Go of My Hand (Poem)

I held her small hand

walked into the marketplace of life

when did her hand become strong?

She let go –  seemed the right time

Watching her shape fade

into the tapestry of tomorrow

wrought pain

Was it pain?

Or was it missing future memories?

I  felt this pang once before

when all the memories of the past melded

the day my hand was big

I entered the marketplace and

let go of my mother’s

hand

never turned back

http://www.flickr.com/photos/fabrisalvetti/2606591025/sizes/m/in/photostream/

You looked at me – Moondustwriter poetry

You looked at me

our first time

eyes met

magnetically

*

You spoke to me

made me laugh

a chord was struck

musically

*

You brushed my skin

accident and yet

feelings on fire

magically

*

You felt my whisper

pass by your cheek

warmed your heart

breathlessly

*

You reached  for me

took my hand

entwined in yours

romantically

Thanks to: Batega for the photo

*http://www.flickr.com/photos/batega/1865482908/sizes/m/in/photostream/

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