She slept a good while.
Until the daisies alerted her.
Then she snoozed on wafts of clover, then woke again.
This up and down fiction suited her well.
One day she found herself in lavender fields and tried to ambush them because they were too good for God.
Now she rests with the kettle boiling. It startles her as if it’s a new passing.
Long days are ahead.
The salt water never abates or stops attacking the olfactory poison that smells like an angry leather belt tonight.
But all will simmer, and the lights will change for the star lilies to come home after marching in the fields.
There will be peace at the back of her dysmorphic throat.
And a simple nod will bring up the sun again.
About the Creator
Paul Aaron Domenick
I taught high school English for 18 years but never developed my own writing and style until three years ago. Since then I have been submitting my work to publications. In exchange with others, my words constantly surface but never arrive.
Keep reading
More stories from Paul Aaron Domenick and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments (1)
What pearl wakes the lover of nirvana? What mood disturbs the eagle that flies high? He envies no one, because he is and becomes. He gathers himself and reaches the sun. To become again. Together. Nothing scares you. Not even death. Why? You are an artist. Of the light. You simply love. Clearly.