Today’s writing prompt is:
He couldn’t believe that she’d slapped him.
My Response to Last Week’s Writing Prompt:
At first, I was going to try my hand at some non-fiction, but then lines of a poem kept coming to my brain, so I cheerfully gave in. It’s been too long since I’ve really delved into this side of my craft.
I Can’t Stand Tinsel This Year
Christmas trees make the scent
of pine fill my nose, tingling and fresh,
though I don’t recall ever having
the experience of a living
tree shedding its needles on the carpet.
Instead, it’s tradition for me
to pull a plastic tree from a cardboard
box and make it alive by the
love its given as we beautify it.
From simply naked to glamorously full,
all Christmas trees are special.
Mine’s only three foot tall, maybe five
since I set it on a wrapped box.
It has two strands of lights and plenty ornaments,
but it doesn’t have any tinsel.
My love helped me make
cardboard garland that I hung
on the bookshelf, but I cry
whenever I see tinsel in the stores.
When I run my fingers over the
shiny, swimy stuff, I see Grandpa’s face
and hear him laugh as we decorated
what became his last earthly Christmas tree.
Those kind blue eyes supervised
our decorating as he rested in his recliner.
We didn’t realize how sick he was.
We didn’t know to savor the few months to come.
I just want to hold his hand and make him smile.