We’re seven savvy chicks, soon to be eight.
We write on one Sunday each month
Over pie, peanuts, even haggis,
To prompts while we sip tea and munch.
Whether foul of mood or weather, we meet,
Pens firing reflections onto the sheet,
Heart-wrenching, gut-churning, ofttimes offbeat.
It’s always a welcome retreat.
Take this, for example. Can you guess? Are you stumped?
What object was inspired by this little prompt?
I will run to the edge. That is what I’ll do if I ever get a day off.
That is what I dream of doing every day once the sun has snuggled into the sea.
But I have no legs, no feet to slip into shining ruby-red slippers.
I have no ears to hear their patter skip across the table.
to sniff a peeled orange
or the rain held captive in dark, rumbling clouds.
Their bulbous, ogling eyes give me nightmares,
especially once I’ve shown them what will come to pass
if they do not choose another road.
I am able to feel great joy, too.
Not often, though.
When I do,
it makes me want to roll off the table,
shatter on the ground,
run naked in the wind,
Did you guess the Wizard of Oz’s crystal ball?
I’ll bet you did.