William Somerset Maugham said, “The great American novel has not only already been written, it has already been rejected.”
That’s good news. It saves the time attempting to write it. One more item to cross off my to do list.
Instead, I’ll post little bits of essays, clips, fiction, poetry, & snippets here from time to time.
Enjoy
I went home this weekend
but only found a house with
someone else’s furniture.
The paint was chipped and
the grass was uncut, but
it was the same house where
I dwelt a short while ago
The house seemed lonely,
and as I wandered between rooms,
I found the hidden paths amid
cracks and squeeks of shifting floors
and the unannounced trap of the step
down in the kitchen.
Visiting the house no longer home,
I peered out the familiar views
recognizing the nameless faces passing by.
Wondering which of those non-people
squatted in my once-home, forgot
to lock the back door for my visit.
Across the room, I willed my hand
to wipe away the strands of hair
that fell delicately in her eyes.
A casual storm-toss of her head
took away my reason to stand
turning my eyes quickly to avoid
her puzzled glance.
Paper lanterns hung in the store,
lifeless, limp in plastic wrappings that warned:
Flammable! Danger! In big letters
Yet hinted a sophisticated disregard
for the safety of your garden party guests.
The gummy bears stuck to each other
as the hovering fingers chose amongst
them a sacrifice
