Posted at 3:42 am , on June 14, 2019
June 14, 1987
The day before …
Irritated by the heat
Swollen belly, huge boobs
The Day …
Pain beyond relief
Rush of emotion
Outside my body.
The day after …
Best job ever
Sigh of relief.
I can do this
Is always enough.
Meghan Elizabeth Ortez
June 14, 1987, 8 lbs 6 oz, 21 inches
Written for the To Live and Write in Alameda 2019 “Flash Lit February” Challenge 10. We had three days to write a poem or short story (of 500 words or less) or draw a piece of art to the theme “The Day Before” and submit.
Posted at 2:08 am , on June 13, 2019
“When you turn the wheel right, the boat goes right” he said patiently. “Think of it as driving a car.”
“It’s not at all like driving a car. And it’s STARBOARD, not right,” she snapped back. “I KNOW how to STEER a boat with a tiller, just not a fancy schmancy “yacht” with a wheel.”
“Well, then try STEERING to a compass heading. Follow the chartplotter course and keep it on the straight and narrow,” he suggested.
“Straight and narrow? This is the Pacific Ocean, not the friggin’ Pacific Coast Highway! Take it, I’m done.”
Posted at 1:00 am , on May 30, 2019
Spring had finally arrived. The stark branches were dotted with pink flower buds and these little signs of life gave her hope. It had been a harsh winter and her husband had been laid off, making it twice as miserable.
“You’re late again. Got a boyfriend?” he shot at her from the living room recliner as she walked through the front door.
“Sorry. I worked late. Thought we could use the overtime,” she answered, balancing two full bags of grocery and her purse.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he jumped up, blocking her way. “I’m a highly skilled plumber and deserve top pay. I’ll get a job when I’m good and ready. You trying to piss me off?”
Posted at 4:46 am , on May 16, 2019
“X marks the spot. Well, if that isn’t cliche,” Sarah rolled her eyes at her boyfriend as she studied the map that was poorly made to look like a pirate’s treasure map.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Treasure hunts are all the rage right now. And I got a deal on GroupOn. You always say we do the same things. I wanted to shake it up.”
“I’m sorry. This will be fun and I’m assuming there’ll be drinks and lunch at the end. Let’s do this!”
Glenn unfolded the instructions and read Clue #1:
It’s been said that there is no there there. But here you will find your first and last chance to sip a hot beverage. Ask Tom for your next clue.
Posted at 5:41 am , on May 2, 2019
Heather stretched languidly in bed, inhaling the aroma of fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen. She smiled, listening to her husband singing off-key to “American Pie.” He knew every word to all 20 plus verses. Up next would be a collection of Buddy Holly hits. His playlist was as predictable as Dan himself.
Dan cracked the bedroom door to see if she was awake, then entered with a bed tray laden with a heaping plate, two steaming mugs and a vase with a daisy from their yard.
“Matzah Brei?!” Heather exclaimed. “It’s not my birthday. Did you buy the Tesla? Seriously, if you bought the Tesla, you’re taking it back.”
“Take it easy! I didn’t buy the Tesla. I just wanted to do something nice for you. Scoot over.”
Posted at 4:37 am , on April 18, 2019
The foursome were enjoying their sundowner cocktails and pupus in the cockpit when John suddenly jumped up.
“We’ve got company.” Everyone turned towards the pretty boat entering the narrow passageway between the reefs into the secluded cove.
“It’s almost dark. We better help them get moored. C’mon, Tom, you drive.”
Tom maneuvered the dinghy carefully around the reef, approaching the boat as John hailed, “Ahoy there! We’re here to give you a hand. It’s a tricky reef.”
Posted at 6:41 am , on April 10, 2019
Dawn arrives with a familiar ache.
One year, a decade, a lifetime
It never changes
You are missed so much.
You have missed so much.
Birthdays and graduations
Weddings and babies
Kids, grands, great-grands
I feel you still.
Whispers in the wind
Light playing on wave crests
The sway of my own boat.
Sail on, Sailor.
I’ll walk the beach
You’ll fade away
Until next year.
Footprints in the sand.
John Benson, May 9, 1942 – April 10, 1982
- John Benson (in orange jacket) sailing Belfast Lady on Opening Day on the Bay, circa late-1970s.
Written for the To Live and Write in Alameda 2019 “Flash Lit February” Challenge 6. We had three days to write a poem or short story (of 500 words or less) or draw a piece of art to the theme “Footprints in the Sand” and submit.
Posted at 3:25 am , on April 4, 2019
“Amy! Dinnertime! C’mon home!”
“Coming, Mom!” Amy yelled from the dense bushes in the park’s far corner.
“Gotta go. See you tomorrow. We’re having lasagna. I’ll bring you some in the morning.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Tommy answered. “But thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Amy tossed in bed that night, worried about Tommy all alone in the corner park across the street. No one but she knew he was there. Four days ago he ran away from the foster family he’d been living with for the past year and no one had reported him missing. It was summer so the school wasn’t aware, and other than Amy he didn’t have any friends. He was quiet and kept to himself, learning at an early age that it was the best way to survive the foster system.
Posted at 4:21 am , on March 21, 2019
She didn’t know how she was going to decide. The relationships had started due to her best friend’s push to get her on a dating website.
“C’mon, Becca. You’ve been divorced over a year. Let me create an OkCupid profile for you. That’s how I met Cliff and it turned out great for us,” Shelley begged, flashing her engagement ring once again.
Rebecca had cringed, tired of the constant attempts from her mother and friends to set her up. “Fine. Just tell the truth and don’t make me look stupid. And I swear, if I get catfished, I’ll kill you.”
Posted at 10:13 am , on March 17, 2019
My parents were both born in Belfast, Northern Ireland but St. Patrick’s day was never celebrated in our house. Why, you ask? Because we are proud Orange-Irish!
Growing up, my sister Jacqueline and I were NEVER allowed to wear green to school. We would try to sneak out the door and Daddy would turn us about saying, “No child of mine is wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day. Go and put on your orange.” No matter how we pleaded about getting pinched, Daddy was always true to his heritage. And I passed that on to my children and grandchildren.
And now, my annual explanation on why this 100% Irish, first generation American, wears Orange on St. Patrick’s Day.