["Feather on Asphalt" by lisa]
Shhh. Not a Poet!
 He sat in her chair. The faded floral chintz with Queen Anne legs. It didn't really suit him. The curves and bumps touched him in the wrong places. It was her chair, embodying her shape. He shifted, settling deeper into her chair. A light pitter-patter of raindrops brushed the windowpane as he sipped tea, focusing on a lone goldcrest splashing and preening in the lush garden's puddles. Together they'd turned weeds and rot into a wonderland of flora and fauna. Built a life from the ground up. It soothed him to sit in her chair. Gazing at his chair. Sturdy. Its umber leather worn thin by time. Decades of nights by the fire. Quiet. Just the two of them at first, becoming three, then four. As time moved on, how he missed the laughter of children. They'd once traded chairs and laughed at the wrongness of trying to fill someone else's shoes. It was a silly thing. They embraced as they crossed paths, to switch to the comfort they had each created. Apart, yet together. Comfort together; not losing themselves. Creating chairs worn by time. He rose from her chair to fill his own. It was a lonely thing, seeing her chair empty. He watched the goldcrest shake off rain and soar. By Lisa H. Owens 5/29/2021 Inspired by a Music Prompt. See video narration on YouTube. Narration, Production and Music by Alan Johnson Featured on The World Comes to You - Part-two [@54:06]
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 "No Means No," by Lisa H. Owens She is a woman unadorned. Beautiful in her plainness. Gentle in her ways. Giving freely to others. Charitable to all. Contemptuous to herself. Not her fault. Fault lies with the perpetrator. The man with unhearing ears. The man ignoring her plea to stop. Now she is broken. She is beautiful in her brokenness. By Lisa H. Owens Art by Lisa H. Owens - "No Means No," painted in oils. [2018]  A woman is so much more than her breasts: A mother. Raising children. Tending to their every need. Teaching them to be strong and independent. Leading by example. Protecting them. Always putting herself last. A wife. A help-meet. Loving and caring for her spouse. Overlooking his weaknesses and annoying habits. Building him up—at her own expense—when things get tough. Too stubborn to ask for help. Too stubborn to admit that she cannot do it alone, at times. Always putting herself last. A friend. A gentle soul exuding kindness. Aware of the moods of those around her. Brightening a room with her presence. Encouraging—while still holding her ground—on the things that really matter. Defusing situations with a kind word, a stern look, a hug. Always putting herself last. A warrior. Willing to fight for her survival. Unwilling to leave those she loves behind. Realizing that sometimes it is selfish to not tell those around her what she truly needs. For once putting herself first. An artist. Filling the world with beauty. Watching the sunrise... By Lisa H. Owens May, 2021 Published in the September/October 2021 print and e-zine editions of "Coping Magazine." Dedicated to a neighbor battling breast cancer.
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