There was a system to all the envelopes hanging in her house; a system only she knew. The black ones for the characters never published, the white ones for the ones who have not decided which story to appear in, and then there were the red ones.
The red ones were few and rare and sealed tight forever. Those were the stories that she had sold to others. She sometimes stood below a red one and tried to guess which little marvelous idea of hers was in that particular envelope. There was no way to recognize it though even if someone opened it – each envelope only had the money and a date.
Written for Image prompt @ What do you see / word prompt @ Six Sentence Story
The idea of the poem below started with the poem Migratory Birds as Laura on dVerse Tuesday Poetics asked us to use one of the translated poems as an inspiration for a poem. It made me remember another song that has opening lines that birds , rivers and winds are not bound by borders, so what really did we gain by being the way we are.
It was another era, when my stories had wings riding on the clouds across time and space; It was folly of youth – to tie wishes to trees, praying for impossible outcomes; like birds flying across oceans, leaving home behind only to return later; always a stranger to lands and the trees that promised to nest.
his silence holds
a hundred meaning;
ample stories whistling
within each trapped breath;
her words however flawed,
are window to a million more,
if only he understood,
silence is a good answer
but never a better question.