Vignettes

Prompt: Instead of one poem, write three mini-vignettes of memories you come back to often.

A sleeveless magenta jumpsuit, tied at the waist with a bow, and a white blazer framing my shoulders. The restaurant is dim and flickering with candlelight. Tapas appear in front of us and we take turns sampling each other’s plates. Everything is exciting and unfamiliar–the expected table etiquette, my carefully chosen attire, the food, and this new romance. In years to come you’ll say that the meal wasn’t anything spectacular, but on that night we enjoy the ambience, the company, and the food. We leave the restaurant’s warm glow and walk along the cobbled city street, arm in arm.

A beautiful summer sun shines in a cloudless blue sky. A pair of kites fly above the rows of umbrellas on the beach. A rivulet of hot tears blurs their carefree dance. If I close my eyes maybe I won’t have to pretend that I’m enjoying myself to erase the concern from my family’s faces. The sun is bright, the screeching of seagulls cuts through the sound of the waves, and I’ve never been more terrified in my life.

The nightlight throws shadows across the room. The crook of my elbow is damp with the perspiration of a little one sucking on his bottle. Static noise fills the room and drowns out whatever else might be awake at this time of night. I lean my ear closer to him to listen for quiet gulps of milk. My eyes had stung in protest when they were snapped open at the sound of his voice. Now resigned to their role, they allow me to look at the little face half-asleep in the crook of my elbow. My back begins its own protest at being forced into this awkward angle, but it’s a futile battle. The winner over any comforts will always be this little blessing in my arms.