Waiting by the Station

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Because a gulf of time surrounds me, I sit at a coffee house across from the trains to await departure. Each engine roars into the station with a wash of passengers, comings and goings. Fresh surf. The wave rumbles. Then they’re gone. And I wait, and wait, my nose in latte foam. Jealous for their oceans, impatient for my own.

 

The header image is adapted from a photo by Flickr user RedBull Trinker.

The Story Coat

Logs crackle as Hasha watches the needle in her mother’s hand pierce and reemerge from the embroidered hem of her father’s coat. Threads weave their family’s history into the garment’s borders: the victory with the defeat, the joy with the loss.

“Here is the day your grandparents married,” says Mother, pointing to two silver doves. “And here is the night fire claimed their barn.”

“What happens when the border’s complete?” Hasha asks, wondering if her life will count towards the colorful threads in her family’s coats.

“Then we’ll begin again,” Mother smiles, and clips the threads between her teeth.

 

Trying something new this week with Six Sentence Stories. You can check out others’ takes on this week’s cue “BORDER,” here.

 

The Last Mermaids

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We’d come to see the last of the Mermaids, called it a conservation trip but really we were just there to gawk. And point. Stand in the background of a CNN reporter’s camera and wave to our friends back home who had thought we were cruel to come so far just for a sideshow. Continue reading

Constellations

 

My fingers move like needle points, spun between the poles of

Clavicle and calves. Invisible lines of magnetism,

Your freckles are my guides. By nights these constellations, traced,

Become my map and sky: Polaris, and the star charts — a universe laid bare.

Continue reading

The Isle of Brad

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Brad was an explorer born six centuries too late. He’d known this from childhood, staging naval battles in the bathtub. Trading pinecones and beads with his action figures. But at forty-six there were no new worlds to conquer, save the mysterious space where paper jammed in the office copier. So Brad set out in his dingy boat, looking for a land to call his own. Continue reading

The Climb

photo-20170717154624399That earthy, peaty smell like so many earthworms’ private fantasies richened the air that morning. The world was keeping secrets, and Jørgen was set on discovery. He sharpened his tools, mended his bag, and looked up the hill. The sun was high by now. He groaned.

Continue reading

Wordsy Updates!

Has it been so many months since my last post? Hopefully none of you are familiar with this feeling of having abandoned your blog on accident. I’ve been finishing up a screenwriting project with my dear friend, relocating to a new city (greetings from Atlanta!), and doing the general business of living that makes sitting down to maintain The Wordsy difficult. I’ve missed this community’s warmth and encouragement (you’re a most decent bunch), and I hope in the future to bring you a better, more vibrant, thoughtful and entertaining collection of work.

xo -Sasha

P.S. Expect some renovations to the site for easier navigation!

Running

Thirty steps to the river. Twenty-nine back to the scrub brush. I pull myself by the limbs, up into the canopy.

Eight weeks since the bombs fell and I ran. I ran. I ran. The water runs here, too. There’s safety in likeness, so I thought. Continue reading

Curses (Infatuation)

“Sorry.” Her fingers grazed my back. I’d forgotten that feeling, like kittens climbing your spine and curling in your throat. Warm and matted and mewling. Disgusting, if you think about it. Who thinks about it at the time? Kittens in your throat. That’s gross. Continue reading

Overstayed

Where the wind blew pine needles across the roof. Scritch, scritch.

I didn’t know it would be this long.

I never would’ve let the dog out.

Never would’ve kissed you under the wolf moon. They say it’s cursed. Now we know.

Scritch. Continue reading