HaikuWriMo XXXA desert boroughHaikuWriMo XXX by MadPrinceFeanor
where all is not as it seems.
Welcome to Night Vale.
HaikuWriMo XXIXthe sycamore spreadsHaikuWriMo XXIX by MadPrinceFeanor
to a wider berth of shade
hinting at summer
HaikuWriMo XXVIIIthe sparrow returnsHaikuWriMo XXVIII by MadPrinceFeanor
to admonish me daily
as I sip my tea
Advance praise for the works of Jai M. McGrainer:|
"You're like, really really good!" ~someone on the internet
"You have a very unique voice." ~almost all of my creative writing professors
"Why do you have to write about these kinds of things?" ~my mother
"[The writing of Jai M. McGrainer is i]mpressive. Most impressive." ~Darth Vader
Grandmother Spider Bears the Weight of the SunDecember.
The solstice smells of wet soil.
A rising sea of dusk washes over her,
pressing on her mind
like her fingers press the lump of clay in her palm.
Grandmother keeps her hands busy,
forces nervous tremors into the small vessel
emerging like a snake
from the earth.
A bundle of flowers had held the sweat of her hands.
The trip to the hospital bore the scent of old leather,
worn bus seats
and lilies too long without water.
He'd been badly burned, they said.
His fingertips were flame-marked,
smooth and new-pink
when they came to change his bandages.
Grandmother flexes her parchment fingers.
Clay rims her wrinkled knuckles,
turns her hands to dusty grey spiders.
She clings to her secrets so tightly
her hands start to burn.
Her feet take her across the road from the bus stop.
In the Oklahoma fields, the long grass breaks against her legs,
the winds drag a tide toward her.
No moon rises tonight.
Grandmother lifts her eyes from the little clay pot in her hands,
eyes the stars
and the st