Lotta stuff going on. Finally, here’s the second writing contest prompt message for December. Remember, this month’s entries must be EXACLTY 90 words.
From “Sun,” by Darrell H.Y. Lum
A transistor plays fuzzy, too-loud rock’n roll.
Sweat trickles down my chest, over my belly, and fills my navel.
Crab crawls slow. Seaweed stinks.
Skin turns to tough, dry leather. Cells produce melanin.
Individual cellular shields protect my body.
Draw pictures. Highlight, lowlight, catchlight.
I turn over. My joints crack when I move. Sweat evaporates.
The sand loses hold of my back and blows away.
From Sun, Short Stories and Drama, by Darrell H.Y. Lum, Bamboo Ridge Press 1980.
* * * * *
From “Rice Bag Sheets and Pillow Cases,” by Juliet Kono
Before polyesters, the drip drys,
and the permanent presses,
over a hot kerosene stove
mother made starch
that bubbled its thickness
like hot-springs mud.
Into a long, white porcelain
bathtub, she laid out
sheets and pillow cases made from
sewn-together rice bags.
The faded calligraphy on the cloth, meandered
in the shallow tub of water
in purple displacement.
From Bamboo Ridge, The Hawaii Writers’ Quarterly, No. 17, December 1982 – February 1983, New Moon.
Your entry must be EXACTLY 90 words.