Nebraska’s Emerging Writers – An Anthology

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Two years ago I was approached by a publishing company and asked if I would be interested in submitting a short story for an anthology being created by Z Publishing House.

I submitted a story I had shared many years ago and it was accepted.

The head space I was in at the time didn’t allow for traditional excitement over the process, nor did it increase my personal productivity for having been asked.

When the anthology shipped to my house, instead of authentic joy over my name being included with other writers, I chose to pretend the publishing didn’t happen and hid my face.

I didn’t and don’t receive compensation for having been included, however, this process started something else entirely.

Soon, friends, very soon. ♡

The Beholder

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Driving the farthest eastern reaches of the Sandhills as this scene beckoned. Was it the water, sunset or hills calling names? The topography, a sensuous mastermind, plays within thoughts while memories flood the present.

How dare it.

Just as beauty sets in, and atop the already gorgeous scene, to share this – would have been the only cherished wish left to whisper. A hand held. Hard kiss, even tug of the hair and a reminding of the natural, even recommended design for an alliance.

Useless comes to mind, but doesn’t it always? Untrustworthy. Less than. Nothing deemed attractive found near not even near, by not just one, but from many.

Wicked is fate as she tosses over another just out of reach, if only the physical qualities found irresistible and encouraged were obtainable by another’s remnants. Would life continue to offer beauty with hopes someone might see?

Surrendered

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an ache within
for progress;
strengthening,
surrender something beautiful
surrender something sure.

a simple decree
less distress; a little more
happily ever after,
surrender something beautiful
surrender something sure.

apricot visions
release me;
wandering free the verdict –
but far from home,
surrender something beautiful
surrender something sure.

Belonging

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A smile, the product of overwhelming acceptance.
Crazy how writing a sentence can be the cause of tears.
Is wanting such a simple human response proof of a wandering spirit in search of connection?

A place to belong,
Echoes inside of me,
awakens at dawn.

Genuine acknowledgment in a situation played out before ours eyes,
should not be controlled.
Why deny the person across from you the gift of worth?
My smile is yours.

But This Is What I Do

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I fall hard
but this is what I do.
I imagine long walks,
you pointing out the vision
I see as reality,
but this is what I do.
I picture myself as a flower,
each petal adored, even
in her simplicity,
but this is what I do.
The vast Midwestern skyline
of Nebraska takes me to
where you are daily, and I pray
but this is what I do.
I wander inside of a daydream
where we exist as one,
but this is what I do.

His Devotee

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her lack of confidence,
deep within,
sails past most
as they watch
day to day,
so intriguing, she,
a soul they want close.
Then One leans in,
comes a little closer,
sensing her heart,
listening.
The wait he’ll entertain,
a point of patience given,
proof of his ability
to see her,
and who she is,
true acceptance shown, granted.
The beginning of what is
meant to be,
his devotee.

Onward

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gripping flocculent monochrome thoughts
like grass tuffs in summer
now willing their release,
i know not what will become of me.

coolness of springtime
wearing off inside my palms,
as deep down the warmth of earth corrects right side,
my defeated revered thumbs.

dark corners of the woodlands
beckon hither
my soul hinged upon true light,
sprites leading in delicate whisper
don’t go for fear of what might…

chase winter with abandon,
fragile heart,
much yet to be loved
like melodic hums chasing snowflakes on tips of tongues.

so come old man winter
blazing frosted cool crisp air,
however I am treasured,
stripped tree my protector,
expose of me what you dare.

Alone Inside My Head

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I drove again
desolate, except for
Thedford,
lost alone inside my head.
wandered in the Sandhills
life: simpler; traditional.
not one wolf
maybe he lived beyond
the first crest of
rolling hills,
as smooth as curvy skin
from here, I think,
alone inside my head.
I like the shape of my breasts
as I look down due to insecurities
more than anything,
the way my favorite, blackest bra
holds them…
what I thought about while driving
alone inside my head.
yesterday, bent over my kitchen sink
crying and
wondering how I make life work,
I saw my long legs tucked into
my soft blue jeans
and thought
I adore my fuzzy slippers with these,
just me alone inside my head.
my reflection in the bathroom today,
concentrating on red curls,
specifically the one who chooses
to hang lower, looser than the rest,
she defies me,
I cheer for her
alone inside my head.