Thursday, July 12, 2018


Toril Fisher

For Margarets prompt at the Imaginary Garden With Real Toads
     Just last year the lake swallowed Mary Givney’s son whole. That damnable oil slick surface not giving up a single ripple as he slipped silently from sight. Two feet from shore and two feet from a boat, five people gawked on, not one moving an inch to try and save the boy.

     “It was his lot,” they said.

     “Who am I to interfere with God’s will,” they said.

    “The fates are not to be trifled with,” they said.

     When that boy came back to life in the fall, walking straight out of that water like the second coming, you should have seen the faces of the towns folk. As they watched him shamble through the main street, skin purple with the cold and eyes red rimmed and milky, he touched each one in the middle of the forehead.  In a voice choked with water and decaying vegetation he repeated the same word over and over.

     “Wish. Wish. Wish.”

     He headed for his mother’s house and the people followed, keeping a distance, not wanting him to touch them again, but amazed at the walking dead and scared of what he might do. 

As he approached the house his mother came out and embraced him, tears in her eyes.

    “Wish. Wish. Wish.”  He repeated and then collapsed in a gelatinous heap, dead once again at her feet.

     She stared out at the people and shook her head at them in disgust.

    “What kind of evil are you casting on us woman,” one of them shouted.

    “What is this Wish he spoke of,” another asked.

    “We should burn him so that he stays dead,” one man spat.

She stared at them, not in horror or anger, but in pity and frustration.

    “You created him,” she said.

    “He only wanted to fit in,” she said.

    “You have killed he only thing I have ever loved,” she said.

     That is when the fist stone hit her in the leg. That was when the boy became a King.  That was when the die was cast.

Tuesday, July 10, 2018


The empathy she showed was not born into her
Rather it was born of her, her lot, her place
Reaching for the same silver coins we all do
But reduced to tears by adolescent gossip
And the curse of being different

"Why do they tease me mother?"
She was natures art project
"Your destiny is so much greater child."
She was the mouth piece of the universe

She grew evenly, like rising, rich, brown bread, soul, mind, light
And time handed her gifts as necessary, depth, love, understanding
On a hill outside of Vinton, Iowa she breathed her first revelation
If you could have seen her that day when her potential was unleashed
You would have seen her for what she was....captivating.

© 2018 Crowley

Sunday, July 8, 2018

Our Bravest Face

We saw the glade, we strolled the hollow, at five o’clock I brushed your hair
You sent shivers up my spine and talked of the milk white skin of my thigh
And we laughed about the Mister and seriousness of political love and polemic lust
And how difficult it is to listen to the worlds conventions and not lose hope

Companion loved, companion lost
You were rolled in oats and honey 
And I whinnied and pranced about
The connection the slimmest and strongest filament 
Umbilical nourishment and telepathic rapture
You fucking left me without a shore

We ate the berries, we bathed in lavender, at five o’clock you brushed my hair
You told me you were moving on, we cried pools of memories into your lap
And we laughed about the Mister and the seriousness or mortal thought and heavens trap 
And how difficult the night would be without the crickets

Companion loved, companion lost
I was awkward, lithe and funny
And you laughed and rolled about
The connection being severed by a razors edge
What will I do without my sunshine
I fucking left you without a moor

Thursday, July 5, 2018

Paying for Peace

Crossways, my mind sat bone still, night still, freeze tag still, hiding from the rapist still
Yet it careened forward at breakneck speed, concerned about the beheadings
Twenty-seven to be exact, one of them an ice cream truck driver, imagine that
You broke into my zone and said a penny for your thoughts and punched me in the shoulder
I screamed in your face about how a penny wouldn’t even buy an ice cream sandwich wrapper
Much less the life of a decapitated Good Humor man, you scurried away distraught, confused
I had tried to buy peace last Saturday night with gold coin and whatever sex I could muster
But my dalliance stared into my eyes and laughed, whispering in my ear before leaving
“Peace is free for those who give away love and understanding for free.”
It was good thing, because I had been saving my love and understanding for someone deserving