Monday, January 27, 2014

Dancers and Doorways

The Mischief Cafe at TweetSpeakPoetry challenged poets to craft a poem that includes both a dancer and a door. Although I'm not the same caliber of poet as my best friend, Megan Willome, I will claim the title of poet (or at least poet-in-training) today!


My brand new patent leather shoes beckon me
to tap, tap, tap in our kitchen doorway
as I belt out
Frosty the Snowman.
Momma peers around the corner and smiles at me and fastens her necklace.
I pause, self-conscious that she heard me singing
all the way in her bedroom.

Forty years later,
I can't remember if I ever finished the song.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Friday Fiction - January 24, 2014

I'm back, guys, and determined to write every day. Here's my contribution to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields' Friday Fiction effort for January 24, 2014. Constructive criticism always welcome.

Copyright - Björn Rudberg

Photo credit: Björn Rudberg

“Where, exactly, does he live?”

To my credit, I refrained from audibly exhaling and reminded myself it was my idea to track down our grandfather in the first place. Camille’s days involved high-end furniture and she spent her evenings sipping wine at Dallas restaurants. I swerved left onto a poorly marked dirt road in the middle of nowhere. “It’s - hold on…” I grabbed at my Diet Coke in a futile attempt to prevent the spill. “Damn. He, well - lives behind someone.”

Behind someone?”

“Yes. Up a hill or something like that.” I finally allowed myself a big sigh. “I don’t know, Camille, it was hard to understand, but it’s definitely on this road, ok?”

If you'd like to read other Friday Fiction stories based on this photo - you can find them here.