Even When You Know

For an acolyte of Cassandra

very little is unexpected.

I am used to shouting into fields,

where the only acknowledgement

comes from the nodding of distracted flowers

moved by the whims of the wind.

What is unexpected

is that even when you know

what the weight of tired is

down to the ounce,

and are intimately acquainted

with how it grows

and compounds over time,

the physical dividends

still manage to bring unwilling gasps of pain

even when you know it’s coming.

Photo by Anh Nguyen on Unsplash

Song Choice: Unwell covered by Jimmie Allen

This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United: Well, That Was Unexpected. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

When All Else Fails

I’ve been cut by light

as brittle as shards of sugar glass

(twice as cloying,

masking none of the bitter)

that left me

with inflamed doubts

trying to spread to every cell,

until I am more doubt than woman.

I cannot survive under the glare

of this illusion of light

and its false promises,

so I take my doubts

into the loving darkness

where true starlight's touch

waits for me

to breathe,

to release,

to heal,

every last taint

of doubt.

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

Song Choice: In Your Eyes (New Blood Version) by Peter Gabriel

This poem was created for Poets and Storyteller United's Weekly Scribblings prompt, When All Else Fails.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

I'll Be Waiting (Dusk til Dawn)

When Ada collapsed into Nestor’s arms his first thought was that she didn’t look as bad off as the last time. Then he saw she was pressing her hands on a spot in her side, dark and wet with blood.

He scooped her up, being careful with her bruised and scratched wings, and laid her out on the sofa. As he rummaged around in his box of medicine, he shot a look at the clock. It was only 1:00 A.M. Plenty of time left in the night. Plenty of time for her to heal before she had to return.

“Hello, magus,” she whispered

“Hello yourself,” he said bringing the supplies he needed over to her. “It’s been awhile.”

“Has it?” Her smile only showed flashes of a grimace now and then as he worked. “Your magic is strong as always.”

Nestor grunted. He didn’t know why basic first aid worked on her like magic any more than he knew why some nights she fell into his world only to disappear at dawn.

“So serious tonight,” she responded. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Especially with you here to help me.”

“Why do I only see you now when you are in pain? Why won’t you talk to me?” he said slamming the lid of the first aid box.

Her smile fled. “I am at war, magus. There are those who will keep hunting me for these,” she motioned to her draconic wings. “I thought you said you understood.”

Nestor remembered the first time he saw her. She was beautiful, like something out of a legend. He had a hard time thinking of her as cursed or flawed no matter how many times she explained the troubles in her world. Even though on one level he understood all too well.

“I’m sorry. I just miss how we used to talk—before things got worse for you. I know it’s selfish,” he said.

“Maybe I feel selfish, expecting you to always heal me. Maybe I feel selfish asking for more.”

Nestor looked out his window. “Dawn is hours away. Neither of us is going anywhere right now. If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

Ada breathed deep, then spoke.

Photo by Gustavo Ardon on Unsplash

Song Choice: Dusk Til Dawn by Zayn featuring Sia

This flash fiction was created for the prompt given at today's Weekly Scribblings at Poets and Storytellers United, By Means of Music.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks