Watching from the passenger seat as the ambulance passes
in front, slow, down those Sunday streets that chance
placed in my memory. The right
to live replaced, displaced, unlaced, insured
by the born,
a life earned.
There’s a river that runs through town, its waters earned
by the toil of men’s hands. Passing
under bridges, along streets and railways, it is born
astride industry and chance
carving the hill, insuring
prosperity, longevity, human right.
We turn too as the ambulance turns right,
we know she is already gone. “Hold on,” my father earns
the right to say them: those words insuring
a last sliver of hope as it passes,
stream-like, replaced by chance
replacing the dead and the born.
When the river was born,
there were no stones made smooth by the left and right
of its current. Mere chance:
the sight of men throwing jagged gravel in the bed, earning
their own living. The site packs up, passes
when the work is done, with each life insured.
For ten years we’ve been insured
for her death. The years since the river was born,
I have sat on its stony shores, passing
time’s spells: feel roughshod rock turn to velvet as lilies bloom right
from the water’s surface, slowly at first, earning
their place in the sun. Now is your chance.
With lithe petals unfurling as if to say that chance
is just destiny earning
About the Creator
-cottage-core meets adventure
-revels in nature, mystery and the fantastical
-avoids baleful gaze of various eldritch terrors
-your Village Witch before it was cool
-under command of cats and owls
-let’s take a Time Machine back to the 90s
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions