RDP Wednesday Prompt: Fright
In a small dark room
with dusty plaster walls
spiders watch from the rafters
and mice listen from inside the walls
to a green eyed woman named Edith
and her eyeless son Ferdinand
and the ghosts that haunt the halls
of this dark and lifeless home.
Inside their small dark room
there’s a picture on the wall
of ripe and glistening fruit
waiting to be touched, tasted and devoured.
Ferdinand can’t see it
and Edith can all but smell it
but neither cares much for it
because what they long to feast on is
Downstairs at the front door.
“Knock on the door a little louder, I think I saw a light in the window upstairs. ” one
Another chimes in, ” Nobody lives in this falling down old place, lets just go in. ”
” Dinner. ” says Edith.
” Desert” says Ferdinand.
” A sumptuous repast ” say the Ghosts ” at last”
RDP Monday: Brink
I’ve slid to the brink
I’ve skated on the brink
I’ve grabbed the brink with both hands and held on until my fingers bled
and sometimes I’ve let go
and sailed all the way down
to the place where the earth meets the sky
and the Moon never rises
and the sun never sets
and I can pretend that it’s the wind I hear
It’s only the wind, I tell myself.
RDP Sunday: Homecoming
Bo Fransson, Watercolor
Do you know why I love this painting?
I loved it because at first glance it looks like Grandma’s back porch- well, my Grandmother’s back porch’s opened up on the same sort of thing- the tree, the gravel road, the pale light.
But then if you look at it again you see the ramp, the water pipe, the door with the glass windows, the rough mat inside of the door and then again there is the doorway itself.
It’s wide, it’s solid , it’s a utilitarian door.
And then it hit me.
It reminds me of the door at a funeral home I visited a long time ago.
That’s what I love about this painting- it tells you it’s story in a soft voice- but at the same time it’s a scary soft voice.
I like that in art- and I like it in my stories too.