An Evening Dress

Plumes of tightly pinned spiral hair. Crimson wire & knitted bows. Smog of aluminum soldiers spitting aerosol. Alcohol & perfumes. Glitter & passion patterned sundries. Finials & studs. Powder & oils.

A drowning of rollers in cracked porcelain sink.

A lonely strand. Hangs loosely around navy slits of her eyes. Footprints of lacquered lashes Repeatedly brushed aside.

Labored fingers toiling in rolling blonde waves. Quietly weaving spells. Enchantments

A delicate dream invading & aborting what was once a sullen, restless evening.

In this moment. Real.

Everlasting

Reviews

[W. Barrett Munn]

Very nice immediacy now. Well done.

[Ranger Kessel]

Thank you for the kind words

[W. Barrett Munn]

Ranger, this really has merit but would be more impactful if you could introduce it in first person.

[Ranger Kessel]

Thanks I will try that. Thanks fir the read

[Ranger Kessel]

A Bath

The raging water from the spigot was hot. The polished chrome handle was becoming slippery. Plumes of steam were vaporizing on the mirror. The glass on the door. The towel on the bar. The lightbulbs. A roll of toilet paper was growing soggy. The furry mat on the floor was thickening. It’s pores were gluttons for water.

Under the heat of ultraviolet, beads of sweat were forming on my temples. The back of my head was wet with sweat. Rolling down my cheeks and into the water.

I broke its bubbling skin with my foot. Eased myself in.

My wet fingers turned the knob. Ended the furious roiling.

I leaned back against the back of the tub. My legs were bent at the knee. The beating of my heart slowed as the water enveloped me. The rustling of plastic rings as I drew back the curtain. My own, little world of white porcelain, polyester plastic prints, and bubble blown shower glass.

My fingers made trickles in the water. Like echoes without sound.

I closed my eyes. Tired and weary.

I saw them crying. I saw them holding back their tears. Aunt Michelle folding my belongings. Organizing dinner at the church. Making phone calls.

The blade sat cold on the soap dish. It’s shiny steel reflected light into prisms on the wall. Inviting me like a lover. The veins in wrist were throbbing. Terrified.

I pulled the drain cord out with my foot. Sent the water to an unknown future in the drain. Clogged with hair and soap residue, it gurgled uncontrollably.

The air was cold. The porcelain. I was taken with shivers.

I left my little, private world. Steam rose like jellyfish tendrils from my goose pimple skin. I threw a loose sweatshirt over my neck. My favorite jeans.

I was ready to get through the day

[W. Barrett Munn]

I think you might consider present tense, I.e., the water is hot, the handle grows hot as I wait etc.

You might want to post it as version 2 as you can always unpublish or trash it if you don’t like it

[W. Barrett Munn]

First person present tense creates more intimacy as the reader feels things happening now which makes any change of the narrator’s thinking seem like discovery

[keith]

this prose poetry is just right
articulate, precise, comparatives and interesting detailed storyline
i would say 'everything but the sink', but it has one! HA!
well worth several readings

[Ranger Kessel]

Thanks for the read and kind words

[jacob erin-cilberto]

a portrait of a woman getting ready to go out for an evening...
so real....
what was not going to be a life worth living, suddenly there is hope of love.
j.

[Ranger Kessel]

Thanks for the read and kind words