Dear Vox Machina, Enola Holmes, Addie LaRue, and Coco,
You are the stories I’ve shared my last week and this weekend with. You have forever reinforced that stories are hard and heart-breaking, but beautiful and worth every minute spent with them.
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Day 12 “healing”
our safe comfort zone / as often as we’ve been here / home has been healing
I took an unintentional break yesterday from poetry, as I’m training to cover one of the janitorial groups the company employs. I split my work day and wanted to write yesterday’s haiku then, but I was so tired. Monday I stayed up late reading and then writing a spontaneous blog post.
Also, yesterday’s prompt was a sad one, and I didn’t feel motivated to write more about missing hugs, home games of D&D, seeing my people and watching my babies (nieces, nephews, and goddaughter) grow up, and getting any slices of normalcy back.
So, I decided to skip it altogether and keep plugging along today.
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Day 10 “looking forward to”
Christmas lights and carols*, / strawberries in October, / D&D home games
I thought of the middle line first. I brought home a couple of tomato starts at the end of June from a co-worker. (You guys, we are not gardeners. I like the idea, but lack the follow-through it takes to grow things and keep them alive.)
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Last night, my party and I rushed to help my hometown from an invasion from a weird upside-down horseshoe-shaped portal, with a pink-ish light coming from the middle and growing bigger as the battle continued. There were five of us—Nekoluga Darkstorm, tabaxi monk; Big One, furbolg druid; Margay, the gnome ranger and his wild boar Brumble (the newest members of our party), and myself, Allayah, a human monk.
Mrs. Writer 