No Room for Breath

For “6 Sentence Stories,” our word this week is “space.” That reminds me of the story I shared last time, but I went in a different direction than that. 


Her chest constricts; there’s not enough space, too many people in this room.

If she sits in the pew, she prefers the edge, as the middle is stifling, and she prefers a clear view of the door in any room.

The quarter she spent in a small, windowless math class was torture.

She feels sad not to sing, but the practice room is too small, too crowded with this new choir — she’s tried.

When people ask her why she doesn’t sing in the choir, she says she can’t because she works during the time that they practice.

Even when that wasn’t an outright lie, she was not being honest.

Shoot for the Stars

Yesterday and today I wrote this 6-sentence story to share.


The question posed to every little girl or boy: “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Rebecca, at age 6, wanted to be a ballerina — or maybe a teacher, an author, or an astronaut. “Maybe,” she exclaimed, “I can dance in space and teach all the aliens!”

Twenty years later, Rebecca found her path much less open than it had appeared before, and even being a teacher seemed out of reach. The world was changing, had been for years, and all she could do was watch everything morph into unfamiliarity.

“If society gets too crazy, if Earth becomes uninhabitable,” she thought, “I could still become an astronaut.”

A Faraway Place

This week, we are slanting the paint chips, and I also responded to this prompt, “More than just a place.” Maybe it’s a stretch, but I think it suffices. Also, I did not exclusively use slant rhymes but tried to incorporate a few, whether within lines or at the end of them.


The moon is more than a faraway place,
She among the stars is like a beacon
In a foggy harbor: a kind face she can
Offer. A muse she can provide, kinder
Than Poe’s raven, making the mind more open.

Her presence gives nourishment; she is rocky
So she understands. Sans wheat fields
She yields soul-food, remembering what’s good.
Sometimes she even sends a moonstone,
Reminding the lonely they’re not the only one.

To and From the Stars

So much is happening these days,
I need a ride in a spaceship,
Or some other faraway trip,
To escape this frenetic craze.

What’s needed now? To turn my gaze
Upon what’s beautiful and bright:
Even right here, there is the sight
Of stars, burning brightly from far
Away, a light which is not marred
By difficulties from this fight.

A décima for this week’s challenge and also linked to FOWC: Frenetic. I forced myself to try to write a more positive ending to this poem. Key word is “try.”

The Space Between

I wrote another thing! This short piece is for this prompt about a journey and for Writing Wednesday from a week ago, “point.”


Not every point on the journey is lit —
How often must we walk in darkness
Or with trepidation, with faintest illumination?

Yet the space between stars creates constellations,
Space mostly unknown to the human eye —
While asking why, take in the tapestry of sky.

starry sky
Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

From Behind the Trees

I wrote this last night, after Thanksgiving dinner, once my family had gone home, and the rest of us retreated to our own activities. I’m not 100% happy with the ending, but I am sharing it now for FOWC: Fidelity, since the moon has such fidelity as a poetic muse, for me and countless others. I write about the moon so often that there is a category on my blog for “poems about the moon.”


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