rough days

Rough days. They happen. Today was one of them. It feels like the world is smaller. Its gravity is stronger. The consequences more severe. The pain more real. A quick cry in the car. Go lie on the floor of my friend’s new apartment and wait for more friends to arrive. I ramble cryptically. Offer one of the people around me half of my life. We negotiate down to one third. My partner takes me home. I step away, be alone. When I resurface, he’s at the bottom of the stairs awkwardly holding a very full, hot cup of tea.

tea

tea finds its way into our writing our poetry our drabbles liquid capable of conquering empires raising dynasties giving birth to war that inspired the child to invent a language and pursue love that stains an old pot by the kettle by the sink waiting to be filled and poured out into perfect cups poured out over perfect conversations like the poet leaning over the back of a lounge yearning to find the words for the magic that no one has yet to put together just the right way that stirs the heart like milk in a cup of tea

journey

That evening she sat staring at the incredible, abundant, extravagant beauty her friends, family, neighbors, and acquaintances had delivered to her. Still unsure of why and wondering what to do with so many flowers and plants, she wept. Tears that overwhelmed her. What love was this? What motivation did so many people have to visit and wish her well. What journey they spoke of… and slowly her heart swelled. It takes time for the spirit of a human to understand. To comprehend. The journey she was taking was one she would never be able to share with them. The living.

mysterious

All day friends stopped by her home. The first arrived at 7:26 am on her way to work. With flowers. Each of them who could come themselves dropped off a small bouquet or potted plant. Three different flower delivery vans came by that day, each dropping off multiple gifts. The day went on and on. Visitor after visitor coming by, saying hello, sharing love and well wishes, then vanishing, leaving flowers in their wake. It wasn’t her birthday, it wasn’t a holiday, she wasn’t grieving or celebrating anything that she knew of. But someone had planned this. A mysterious day.

drabblers' condition

drabblers' condition is a minor ailment derived from the self-imposed rule that one must compose and post one new drabble every day in the month of may. the condition lies dormant until the drabbler becomes either lazy, overwhelmed, or uninspired; thereby missing one day of continuous composition and posting. drabblers afflicted with this condition have two courses of action in which to alleviate the condition. one, one can simply carry on, pretending no days have gone missed. or two, compose an extra drabble the next day and pretend no days of gone missed. this condition only occurs in may.

form

when composing a drabble one might consider form. however, the limitation of composing something consisting of exactly 100 words is in itself a form. one may argue that the limitation directs or informs the form of the composition.

however, again, a drabbler may chose any form or layout that they chose.

one may present their 100 words in a standard paragraph form.

and yet another
may present a series

of couplets. and so
it is agreed upon

that the form of a drabble is fluid and defined outside of the word count parameters. one may and should use any form.

catching up, drabble 10, 11, 12, and 13

sorry i haven't been daily.

Drabble #10: Cheddar

Drabble #11: steel-toed

Drabble #12: Leaping

Drabble #13: Bruises

drabble #7: measure

drabble #7: measure on somethingkaty

Drabble #6: dew

drabble #6: dew on somethingkaty

drabble #5: indigo

drabble #5: indigo on somethingkaty

Drabble #4: threaded

Drabble #4: threaded on somethingkaty

Drabble #3: Worrisome (a day late)

Drabble #3: worrisome on somethingkaty

Drabble #2: Simple

Drabble #2: Simple on somethingkaty

Drabble #1: Vaster

Drabble #1: Vaster on somethingkaty