Twelve Bar Blues

Derry picked up her guitar and ran her fingers over the strings, feeling the frets under her fingertips, picking out a melody she'd known most of her life. She didn't have to be down to play the blues; but it helped. The music took the place of tears; it always had.

In her own mind she heard the rest of the band; the bass pulling the rhythm, the harp like a train in the distance, and her on the guitar. It had been years since she'd been on stage, years since they'd played together, but they were always together in her head. In a voice as rough and as nicotined-stained as her fingers, Derry sang the blues.

© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel
Lampwork beads by Melissa Vess. Bead woven.

Hugs and Kisses

When her children were small, she loved to stroke their cheeks and kiss them on the tops of their heads; their hair smelled so sweet, and their skin was softer than she thought anything could be. As they grew up, she reveled in sticky kisses and exuberant hugs; even the ones that nearly knocked the wind out of her and prompted her to remind them to be gentle, telling them that mothers can break if they're not careful.

She missed grabbing them as they ran by and swinging them into her arms; she missed their childish laughter and shrieks of delight. When they were little, they were part of her; affectionate gestures came as easily and as naturally as breathing.

Now that they're grown, she has to think before she hugs; she has to judge their moods, and wait for invitations. Someday, she hopes, they'll have children of their own; children whose heads she can kiss, instead of just remembering.

© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel
Lampwork beads by Melissa Vess. Bead woven bangle; pattern available in my ArtFire and Etsy Shops.

Balancing Act

She caught her handbag as it plummeted off her shoulder before the cup of coffee she was holding spilled all over her new suit. It was going to be a good day; that was the best omen she knew, even better than arriving in front of the elevator bank and finding an empty car waiting for her.

She set her cup down on her desk and put her kamikaze purse into her bottom drawer. She lowered herself gratefully into her chair and kicked off her shoes; they were gorgeous, but they pinched. Thank heavens for desks that hid everything from the waist down; her feet could recover while she checked her messages.

She dealt with her email swiftly; the delete key was her friend. Phone messages were a bit stickier; if people actually bothered to call, they usually needed some sort of a response. She was in a race against time to clear them out; her next meeting started in less than an hour. Leaving them for later was not an option. Later, there would be more.

Downing her coffee before it went cold, she set to work.

© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Personal Use and Teacher's Editions Tutorials are available in my ArtFire Shop.