Write a villanelle* with these lines:

A1: the fields of my mind are black

A2: the fields of my heart are gold

*A poem with 3 line stanzas, where the 1st and 3rd lines of the opening stanza are alternated as the last lines do the following stanzas and the final stanza concludes with those two lines.

Eg: A1 b A2/ a b A1/ a b A2/ b A1 A2

...

What if permanent changes to our body suddenly became heritable? You would never have to worry that your spouse would find out about your old nose because of your child, but that butterfly tattoo? Oh dear.

Write a story about this. Consiser: Why did this happen? What will it mean for the children? How can we stop it?...

You are only as old as you feel

And I feel like a child

Prowling the kingdoms of imagination

Unhindered, free and wild

The ache in my hip forgotten

The stiffness gone from my knees

I will make myself a crown of flowers

And blow dandelion fluff into the breeze

Too long have I been reliable

Slaved to the taskmaster of adulthood

Borne the weight of gravitas

And eschewed the simple and the good

The...

Indigo fades to steel

And gold suddenly blossoms

Across the horizon

Sending streaks of light

Like a sparkler

Harbingers of fire

The night draws to a close

And I slip into the shadows

The molten glow still burning in my veins

I yearn to reach my pale hand

Into the sun’s warmth

To hold it there in blissful pain

To feel the radiance on my face

To live, like others do, under the open blue sky

But I...

You slide the bag across the table. The hooded figure opposite you peers inside.

“Where the hell did you find this?” He asks. His voice drips with avarice.

“Does it matter?” You shrug.

“Not really.” His hood obscures his face but you can still feel his eyes peering at you with interest. He’s too proud to sigh with frustration but you sense he wants to, that he desperately needs to know your sourc...

Night lay heavy over the fields, turning the rich gold of barley and wheat into inky black. It was blessedly cool, the heat of the day having dissipated with the sun in the sudden way of the desert. Ruth pulled her cloak tighter, hurrying through the maze left by the men’s scythes to the threshing floor. There was nothing to hear but the rustling of the grain, the men having long since retired to...

Midnight in the high desert

The sun’s heat has dissipated

And it is blessedly cool

I throw back my head

To see the Milky Way

Halogen-bright

Against a sky spattered with stars

Unimaginable numbers of suns

Of galaxies and nebulae

And I am so small

But the heart that beats

Inside my chest is full

With the joy

Of merely being here

On this blue-green earth

Under this miracle of sky

And I dance

To the m...

It is morning in the Santa Monica mountains

As I wind through the high grasses

Painted golden by the sunrise

In my nose is the tang of mustard and fennel

Wilded from their farms a hundred years ago

Their yellow blooms nestled

In the native purple of hummingbird sage and lupine

It is quiet, the buzz of the highway muted

The rooftops hidden by the scrubby chaparral

Like I have stepped from the bust...

The mirror is inconstant

Fickle

Ballooning this part or that until I am satisfied

Unsatisfied

With the lines of me

Today the curve of my belly

Fills me with loathing

Tomorrow the swell of a hip

Makes me feel powerful

I stare in it, this silvered glass

That holds so much power

That it can make me a beauty, a hag

A turmoil of emotions

But it is not the mirror that changes

Nor the reflection—

Or only...

I looked into the mirror. My reflection gazed back at me, irises dark through heavy lashes. Was that a wrinkle? I brushed my hand against a high cheekbone, peering deeply into the silvered surface, flicking off imagined blemishes. No, my skin was as smooth as had ever been, my chestnut curls untouched by gray. In front of me sat an apothecary’s treasure of bottles and potions to ensure that. I cor...