WritingPrompt

Potholes and Mud Pies

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Potholes and Mud pies

Potholes can be any thing…

misuse of words in a sentence to describe something else

memory loss when scrambling to complete a task

finishing a painting or coloring a photo, and all that’s left to choose from is the color brown

cracks in the sidewalk

holes on a paved city street or country gravel road where the water has filled them up with rain, dirt and gravel

Potholes

… when knowing and remembering collide and stop one in their tracks

. . . like recalling one’s name, a favorite book, poem, song, and it’s attached to some invisible thread so fine that no one can see it, and you pray for the memory to return, the brain to be restored

and when it is …

– you make mud pies and dance

© Anita Adams 2020

Today I am….

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tears

full of emotions

radiating love

a joyful child

sadness lives deep within this wounded body

patient with those around me

impatient with political climate and a mind healing too slow

prayerful of all on my prayer list and beyond

grateful for my home, husband, mountains, trees, children and grandson, friends and confidants

artistic on paper with paint and glue stick

joyous with anticipation of songs to be sung and songs to be heard

hesitant with BIG decisions

longing for more travel, creative flow, words of wisdom

blood, veins and bones

a body with Heart and Soul

© Anita Adams 2/2020

 

Where was love when the light went out?

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Where does love go when the light goes out? A question he asked once as a young man in his 60’s . He doesn’t remember asking these days. However, the question is a good one and has remained with me. How to answer this? Love is always present within every human being I believe. For some, a place in the dark could also represent a place of silence, loneliness, or the sound of mental chatter grinding away while one wishes for a lover’s embrace.

As a child, I recall needing two doors left wide open, and a nightlight on at all times in order to feel safe enough to close my eyes and attempt to go to sleep. Where was love in this dark twin bed on the third floor of Macon Avenue?

Why was light the only key to my safety?

Where was love when this light went out?

~ Anita Adams 2/4/2019