Amateur poet with an adoration for observation.
Candace stood at the gate of the garden style condo complex on Farragut west waiting for Alan to let her in. She shuffled the large heavy cardboard box from hip to hip until she was tired of waiting, put it down and dialed his number.
By Lexxie3 years ago in Fiction
It all started on a paint-chipped park bench. I’d walk along the rows of pine trees for twenty minutes searching for the thickest, straightest stick I could find to hand to grandpa.
By Lexxie3 years ago in Journal
From where I am sitting at the kitchen table, I can see a small rabbit turning into the garden where Uncle Joe’s prized tomato plants are beginning to bud.
“Charlene! Charlene! The barn is on fire! Wake up! Call the fire department!” Even in the dim light I can see Buddy’s face red with adrenaline, a mixture of panic and excitement busting out of his in his wide-open eyes. Just as quickly as he arrived, he's gone again, his large six-foot-five and heavy frame smashing down the stairs as if his strides will stop the flames.
I am the iridescent hue, burning orange, midnight blue, murky brown or grassy green, in a vase, a transparent sheen. Reflections swerve and I observe
By Lexxie3 years ago in Poets