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The Minotaur

I started attending a writing group at the library. This particular session had us pulling poetry out of a basket. I picked this doozy the, Minotaur by Ted Hughes and had 10 minutes to come up with something and this is what I did. You deserve wine after this if you read it, I know I did, and I read it.

She sat in the gray rocking glider. Loop, slip, release, loop slip release, loop loop loop. The kettle sputtered whistled as the flow flame heated the full kettle for tea. Unhook, unslip – do it again. The pile of pink booties tucked neatly in the basket never to be worn right by her feet. The yard wrapped around her fingers that worked without direction. Another one was almost done, never to be worn. She stood, wrapped the belt around her, tightening the housecoat and shuffled into the small galley kitchen. She washed her hands, shaking off the excess water from her fingers. Helen pulled down the black chipped cup right next to the pink one. He turned it, again. Now the words would not show she pressed her lips and spun the pink cup around and the cheery happy 'First Mother’s Day' with its curly script condemned her, as it should. The soundtrack of 'It’s no one’s fault' from her friends and family played once again never to be believed.

Thank you for taking the time to stop by. I hope you enjoyed this 10-minute sprint that has been mildly edited for errors but not content.


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