An Almost Word...

                                                                        
                                                           

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Buzzing, flitting--

Out of reach.

Evading defiantly:

A drunken gnat of memory.

Tantalizing with maybe,

Could be, almost…

Sleep descends,

Eyes heavy in a curtain of dark.

Hidden letters a-b-c stretch out,

Swatting the inebriated midge.

The almost-name, almost-word

Rises from the hazy smoke

Of buried, cluttered

Memory

I wrote this in 2013, back before the senior citizen years began.

This means so much to me now that I have reached this age and my brain taunts me all the time. Damn it. 

Samuel: the introduction

 

 

 

The door swung opened for Samuel and one of his parents. The Mommy dropped the groceries on the table and tossed Samuel into the playpen. “Be right back!” Mommy whisked out the door.

Samuel waited, listened. He had the time, the strength, and he could do this. Throwing the blue pacifier over the railing, Samuel hoisted his pwesuss whittl weggees over the railing and did a practiced roll. With his hands up for balance, Samuel began the newly discovered walking power: stagger-stagger-wobble. 

‘Focus, man, focus!’ The words hammered in his 14 month brain. ‘Ignore the Cheerios under the couch!”

Samuel reached the spot where he nailed Grammie with projectile vomit. She was saying, “Gwamma wuvs dose pwessus whittle wehgees…” Blaaaagh, and she stopped. Good times.

Almost there, Samuel pictured the freedom:  chase the kitty, taste the flowers, squish  mud. Such fine adventures, and he was almost there.

The Mommy swooped through the door and knocked over Samuel. She swept him up. “Mommy wuvs dose pwessus whittle waygees…”

Samuel tried to say, “Dammit woman! Can’t you speak the King’s English?” All that came out was a cry and some spit-up. The door swung shut.

This is from one of my blogs, the Chronicles of Samuel. This from 2011 or so.  I really loved Samuel's character.