Banquet

In a slow five-point cartwheel, through the heat-haze, it came as I lay on the wood-floored portico of the Thai Approbation Office. Soft suction pads settled on me. A cool blanket. I smiled. Its stomach crawled out, scored my flesh, siphoned my juices, sucked my bones, digested my body, leaving only my head behind. Dripping blood? No. Sweat. I had dozed off. I awoke to heckling that drowned the sound of salty sea waves. Icy juice vendors and paper boys hawked nearby. Ropes of silent ants had crawled into my basket of deep-fried starfish. A customer, thrusting money, demanded two.

Three words had to be incorporated in this 100 word flash fiction. Starfish was fine but other two weird: “approbation and portico”.

Morning Raga

Tree branches shower blossoms
Petals beneath my feet.
Morning scents green, cool
Mist from valley below invades
Curtains of grey blur sun splinters.

Before day comes air is brisk.
Silent.

Silent?

Listen.
A lone bird sings clear,
Breeze whispers a gentle breath on cheek.

Listen again.

Trembling leaves glisten wet
Cobwebs dangle dew drops
Imperceptible they dance.

Down the path winding into pool of grey
I embrace the floating silence that comes.

No questions, no answers.

Leaving behind me the passing season
I pocket the morning
Walk on.

***
Selected: 1 of 24
Poetry Anthology Turner Maxwell