she picks up a hand mirror
suddenly there are no reflections
no remembrances
no bookmarks
nothing at all but fragile glass words
she leaves
walks to
the bank
the library
the drugstore
the supermarket
returning with only a few items:
one oil removing mud face mask
one audio book
some weekend cash
baby carrots
chopped spinach
bread
and a package of sunflower biscuits
the street is dark and quiet
except for a screaming man
across the street
in a bus shelter
his arms flailing
she walks faster
eyes scanning the immediate area
for signs of others walking
there is no one around
even the basketball courts
have no players
she looks down at her feet
new gray and white sports socks
orange Keds
she picks up the pace
eyeing the freshly-trimmed hedges
trimmed unevenly
the man’s screams
eventually drowned out
by a sudden surge
of noisy traffic
arriving home
she notices that
her neighbours’ children
are no longer playing tag
on the front lawn
though it is still quite early
such a strange night
passing through the lobby
she has a few words with security
requests that he make a phone call
on behalf of the screaming man
then heads upstairs
takes the staircase
hoping the six stories will benefit her
each with a beginning, middle and ending
but of course there is only a middle
she turns the key in the lock
turns on the light
undresses
puts on a soft night gown
makes coffee
reads about the benefits of white tea
takes her stomach pill
her pain pill
puts in her eye drops
sets the alarm for nine
knowing all too well
that she will awaken at
two, at four, then again at seven
or something like that
sitting at the table
she thinks of earlier on that day
how children had found a
well-feathered bird’s nest on the ground
how they had thrown it back and forth
laughing gleefully
as for the birds
come to think of it
she’d seen no birds at all
no gulls, no pigeons, no sparrows
no butterflies
only the tiniest of ants
feasting on bread crumbs
the words logical illusions
come to mind
she dismisses them
the words
logical exclusion
come to mind
she ponders this for a while
then stretches out
her head resting on a cold, plump pillow
she awakens at two
and again at four-thirty
her thoughts free
of all but fragile glass words
“affair…”
“i’ never had one of those,” she thinks to herself
“if the required word had been faithful, i could have written much”
“faithful…it has such a beautiful ring to it”
she ponders the next word, expectation
a tear falls from her eye
at least she has something to post now
by mary ann blinkhorn
mypenandme 
I forgot to mention that I wrote this for Three Word Wednesday at: http://www.threewordwednesday.com/ This week’s words: affair, free and expectation
poignant and brilliantly produced
You’re very kind. Thank you. 🙂
“she picks up a hand mirror
suddenly there are no reflections”
I have felt this emptiness and despair. I think baby carrots taste and feel like rubber.
Similar to plain rice cakes…
What a journey in the darkness that clings to us..even if we try to cheer things up with orange shoes..sometimes it would be better not to have a post..but everything is a story..(in a way).. beautifully told..jae
Thanks, Jae. 🙂
A journey we all tread or touch upon at one time or another. Thank you.
Indeed! Thank you. 🙂
Your writing brightens my day! Thank you.
Aw. thanks, Charley. 🙂
This story was told vividly, I felt and saw her despair and her fear and her disgust (at those kids with the bird nest).
Thank you, Annette. I appreciate your comment. 🙂
Wow! That is so beautifully sustained, with a great kick at the end. I really like your poetry anyway, but this is great.
Thanks very much, Richard. It was a strange night last night. I had a lovely day today. 🙂
a lovely journey….nice ending words…
Thank you for reading and commenting, 4joy. 🙂
I really like this. Holds interest throughout. Good ending.
Thanks, Freeda. I’ve been writing a little bit differently lately. It must be all the screenwriting.
What a beautifully written, sad and lonely post. There are many of us who are going through this introspection. It is as though we need company to prevent us from thinking too much! Every mundane observation is magnified and pondered over.
I can sympathize with your comment. There are a lot of lost and lonely people in this world.
For me, I cannot write or create unless I do feel alone. I have to be in that headspace. Sometimes this is challenging. I have a very busy and active full-time day job that requires me to be constantly interacting with others. I have an elderly mother who comes over to visit every Sunday. I have very dear, precious friends who call me on the phone regularly–almost all of them highly creative individuals who require the same amount of alone time as I do. Then, there’s my screenwriting. If you gave me a choice between going on a twenty thousand dollar vacation, or having one month of uninterrupted time to be able to work on my screenplay–I would choose the latter. If I won a million dollars, instead of going out buying and doing things, I would quit my job and stay at home all day working on my screenplay. Poetry for me is one form of self-expression that I enjoy because it is highly riddled in metaphor and allows me to express myself fully without revealing all. Almost everything that I write has multiple meanings. I could be writing about a tree and the whole poem could be about my Aunt Martha. I could write a poem that includes a tea kettle, and that tea kettle represents a lost love in my life. This is the way I write poetry. Thank you for your wonderful comment. I do appreciate hearing your thoughts. Best regards, – Mary Ann
Wonderful writing!
Thank you. Your last blog brings a whole new meaning to the word, “wonder” – ful! Enjoyed. 🙂
and a package of sunflower biscuits….Yum!!!!
“smiling”
Great poem. You have a gift!
That’s very kind. Thank you for your wonderful blog.
Amazing. Had to read it more than once. Thanks.
What a lovely compliment. Thanks for spending the time. 🙂
Wonderful imagery, Mary Ann.
Thanks, Cathy. 🙂
Lovely, simple words that paint a true image. I must admit I envy you, I could never produce metafiction so effortlessly! 🙂
Thank you, Ritva. It’s not one of my better pieces but I thank you for your encouragement. 🙂
Very nice. It reads like a stream of consciousness almost, but it’s also so punctuated. Sunflower biscuits and the oil removing mud face mask, weekend cash…I really enjoyed it.
Thank you, T. Bumble. 🙂 I just enjoyed one of those sunflower biscuits a few minutes ago.
Oh dear – very sad story. Well told. k.
It’s not that sad, really it’s not. I usually enjoy a nice evening walk to pick up a few things after dinner. Usually the atmosphere is much nicer and the walk invigorates me so that I clear away the day’s cobwebs and get reading and writing much sooner in the evening without having to unwind as much. I felt very bad about the man. Something was terribly wrong. It gave me a creepy feeling for the rest of the evening and I was a little annoyed with myself (to say the least) that I was such a chicken shit that I couldn’t even bring myself to go across the street to see if I could assist him. Ten years go, I would have gone, but times are changing, the daily news is often quite sickening and my freedom of being able to go out somewhere with a pen and pad and feel comfortable with finding a place to write is quickly disappearing. Such a shame. The rest of the poem is about a nerve-wrecked self, carrying on with the evening as best I could then trying to come up with something for 3WW using the three given words. I’m looking forward to a wonderful three-day long weekend–much peaceful rest, a bit of fun, and much writing. Hope your weekend is all that you want it to be. 🙂 M.A.
Well- thanks – enjoy yours also! k.
An interesting story…
Thank you, Hemouse. 🙂
The narrator’s feelings touches your heart
Aw, thanks. 🙂
Vivid! Lovely write!
Thanks, Daydreamer. 🙂
Very special. Easy to read but vividly impressive!
Thanks, my friend. 🙂
You’re very welcome!
Lovely! Would love it if you’d submit to The Light Ekphrastic sometime. 🙂
I’d be happy to. Thanks. 🙂
I wondered, at first, if the trip to the end would be worth it – scrolling all the way down that long page – all those line breaks, all that white space – ” . . . her thoughts free of all but fragile glass words – affair . . . ” Amazing and worth the trip.
Thank you, Francis. Shorts are more my style, but every now and then I like to ramble. I appreciate your visit and comments. 🙂
This is beautiful. A ramble that is tight and makes sense. It all comes together at the end.
Thank you.
A great poem – one where the reader is right there with you because of how you express yourself. My poems also have more than one meaning…glad you had a lovely day after the unusual night! 🙂
Thanks for your kind comments. 🙂
Thanks for being by new follower – I am honored! 🙂
My pleasure. You have a lovely blog. 🙂
“no bookmarks” Upon second read this caught my eye – a life unlived.
a particular book (metaphor) no longer left half finished…