Ripples

Last night I dreamt I stood
between an old woman and a child
in a place where the black ground
rippled like water.
You hurried past us, no backward glances,
leaving a stormy wake.
The child shrieked after you
stomping out large ripples, uncomprehending.
The old woman watched you go, silent.
Her tears made plinking tiny ripples.
You didn't notice, and she,

unlike the child, was unsurprised.
I made no ripples at all.

The dream turned on its head,
changing black to white,

and in that surreal moment,
I was both old woman and child.

NaPoWriMo #17.2 - Something elemental

Necessary

She had always wished

to be as necessary to him as water,

to be something he couldn't live without.

She knew it was selfish,

that it was impossible,

that it was foolish, even.

But that didn't stop

the stab of envy in her breast

every time she watched him

raise his glass to his lips

and sip, eyes closed in contentment.

NaPoWriMo #17.1 - Something elemental

The Power of Water

She had always been conscious

of the fact that her body was 70 percent water

and proud of it, too.

She had seen often enough

how water could carve its way through rock

with only persistence and time for tools.

It was gentle, yet powerful.

Soothing, yet destructive.

It was such a beautiful contradiction,

one she strove to emulate.

NaPoWriMo #3 - Scared Yet?

The prompt for the 3rd poem was to write about something that scared or unnerved us.

Time

I'm caught in a riptide:

I cannot swim against it.

It cannot be fought.

It drags me

further from child-like certainty,

further from the shore,

going ever faster,

blurring into the future.

I can only tumble,

uncertain,

into the unknown.