Friday
Friday Prompt: The Moss of His Skin
First, consider the following poem by Anne Sexton.
The Moss of His Skin
It was only important
to smile and hold still
to lie down beside him
and to rest awhile,
to be folded up together
as if we were silk,
to sink from the eyes of mother
and not to talk.
The black room took us
like a cave or a mouth
or an indoor belly.
I held my breath
and daddy was there,
his thumbs, his fat skull,
his teeth, his hair growing
like a field or a shawl.
I lay by the moss
of his skin until
it grew strange. My sisters
will never know that I fall
out of myself and pretend
that Allah will not see
how I hold my daddy
like an old stone tree.
Now, using at least ten (but as many as you can) words (good ones, not "the," "of," "an," etc.) from this poem, write a piece [flash fiction] about a daddy and daughter doing something you wouldn't expect a daddy and daughter to do.
<500 wds.
Young girls in old Arabia were often buried alive next to their dead fathers, apparently as sacrifice to the goddesses of the tribes... —Harold Felderman, “Children of the Desert,” Psychoanalysis and Psychoanalytic Review, Fall 1958.
It was only important to smile and hold still
to lie down beside him
and to rest awhile,
to be folded up together
as if we were silk,
to sink from the eyes of mother
and not to talk.
The black room took us
like a cave or a mouth
or an indoor belly.
I held my breath
and daddy was there,
his thumbs, his fat skull,
his teeth, his hair growing
like a field or a shawl.
I lay by the moss
of his skin until
it grew strange. My sisters
will never know that I fall
out of myself and pretend
that Allah will not see
how I hold my daddy
like an old stone tree.
from Jessica Helfand's "Anne Sexton's Scrapbook"
Click on picture for more.
posted on 28 Jul 2009, 11:16 AM
Not sure if this is where I should put this...
Tea Party
by Annemarie Bogart (138 words)
Mother died ten years ago. Without sisters to bond with, I found myself searching for feminine companionship in a house with just me and daddy. It was his idea to play dress-up.
The silk shawl covers his broad shoulders as I apply the moss colored shadow to his eyelids. That color brings out his brown eyes. Applied delicately, the porcelain powder covers his rough skin. I hold the lipstick steadily as I apply the red stain to his thin lips. The fake blond hair is fastened in a black clip. There, he looks utterly divine. A smile falls across his lips as he gazes into the mirror at my handiwork.
So, he likes to pretend to be mom sometimes. I find nothing wrong with it myself. We talk and laugh together over tea. It’s like she’s still around.
posted on 29 Jul 2009, 6:39 AM
Nicely done, Annemarie. I especially like the moss colored shadow and that ending with "It's like she's still around." I wonder if that might make a cool title, that final line, and end with "...over tea." Just a thought, maybe a silly one. I enjoyed reading this!
posted on 21 Aug 2009, 10:48 AM
I worked to this prompt once before (prompted by you, then). The resulting story was published in FRiGG: "On the Road to Kirkuk."
posted on 23 Aug 2009, 9:39 AM
Love that story, Beth. Here's the link: http://www.friggmagazine.com/issuetwentytwo/poemsstories/fiction/Thomas/OntheRoad.htm
posted on 15 Oct 2009, 8:43 AM
Thanks Randall...It was fun to write as well :)