marital construction

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We are building a deck,
greenish wooden planks
cut into angles, joined
by curlicued steel.
Over there are
stringers, posts, boards
split to uniform
length x width and
we bind them with
a merciless tempo, our
squealing screw gun
hammer kicking cacophony
rings clear
and true. This is
a puzzle,
sticks metal sweat
lashed with profanity
and laughter,
a job well done, yes
a job well done.

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Uniform

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growing up

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when you were born
the world fell away
incredible joy
clutching fear,
cloying
desperate
beautiful.
now, you are older
there are cruelties, a
monstrously tiny
maze of traps,
enticing taut
glitter toothed jaws
lying in wait
and you
must navigate this,
trace
your own
winding path.
influence is
a fading gem;
our gift, our curse
lies in words,
pride and wisdom
cloying
desperate
hopeful.

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Trace

astronomy as a business plan

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When he opens his mouth
I see stars,
and not beautiful celestial bodies,
dazzlingly hot and mysterious
and real –
but star-forms on the ceiling
of a tempestuous boy’s room,
cheap glow-in-the-dark plastic
softly luminescent,
daring you blink, there
a twinkle! a reprieve
from daylight’s burdens.
This boy dreams
not of telescopes and the
milky way, instead
he concocts
a plan to gild them
dazzling! rich! gold!
and auction to
the highest bidder.

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Reprieve

adrift

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when one considers the word
adrift,
what comes to mind?
a raft lost on open waters
undulating and salt-sick,
the gentle unmooring of
a lonely soul,
searching for scraps of
hope – a compass needle,
a tattered map,
whispered voices
begging for nightfall,
thank polaris!
we shout, assuming above all
that anyone presumed lost
begs to be found

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Adrift

imposter syndrome

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my thoughts are lies.
there, i said it –
confidence is
but a farce,
that honest calm expected
of my age and gender
supplanted by
twitchy-skinned
anxiety.
i can’t believe
my CV, although earned
(and lived) and
the word deserve is
blood on my lip. what
to do?
walking within these
doubtful bones
and brains
a human,
whole
to those outside
but faulty parts to
me. my thoughts are lies,
i know but do not
believe.

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Farce

who really likes meetings?

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last week, last year
or yesterday, this thing
we call work and all of
the related paraphernalia
is invariably subject to meetings,
those often hellish groupings
of similarly focused folks
(some more passionate ’bout The Cause
than others)
where some talk
and fewer listen
about synergistic paradigms
closing loops through
leveraged collaboration
of core competencies
the only result being
assurance of future meetings
ad nauseam,
in perpetuity

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Collaboration

too much information

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I remember
in fond retrospection,
when feeling panicked was
a rare occurence,
the clamor of a telephone cutting
through wee hours of slumber, the gut
punch of “we need to talk”-
We want too much,
know too much, now
media-driven adrenaline spikes
are the norm, and I ache
for quiet (or perhaps ignorance),
longing to trade information
for peace,
at least for a little while

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Panicked