FEAR

She found the emaciated Lab,
took it in,
cared for it.
Loved it,
until the owner showed up.

The dog cowered.
Remembered.

* * *

BOTTLE TIME

The baby cried,
but no one came.
Hours passed.
The baby kept crying.
Her mother's boyfriend
turned up the t.v.,
opened another beer.

Christopher Woods is a writer, photographer and teacher.  He lives in Houston and in Chappell Hill, Texas. His work has appeared recently in GLASGOW REVIEW and NARRATIVE MAGAZINE.  He  shares an online gallery with his wife Linda at MOONBIRD HILL ARTS:  www.moonbirdhill.exposuremanager.com/

because if you've ever

put a seed in the ground

you know

a watermelon seed

does not
 
grow to be corn
 
and the seed of hate

does not

grow to be love
 
will someone ever make note of the fact
 
that a seed of hate
 
compares like that of a mustard seed

so tiny

so effective

just one here

another there
 
soon a field of hate
 
call me a groundfeeder if you must

call me a worm
 
call me anything

seeds of hate

eaten and turned

to
 
castings of love


uhhhhhh ha... um..    trish lundberg mother

I dropped the tablet containing Ten Commandments.
It shattered into nine tiny pieces.
Eight people came to my assistance.
It was the seventh day of the month.
I had a sixth sense about the moment.
In five minutes we had reassembled the dictum.
Four millennium of beliefs fragmented.
Three tribes of Moses documented the word of God.
The words, they seemed, directed at only two.
One day - maybe, I'll understand.  

Michael J. Solender blogs here: http://notfromhereareyou.blogspot.com/