From this week's Writers' Island prompt: Secret.
Granddad would bag the parson's nose,
the wishbone was fair game between
the likes of we two boys. We'd each
take hold, and on mum's say-so, rip
the thing apart, and doing so,
would make a secret wish. The bone
would split unequally. Next, mum,
behind her back,would hide them in
her fist - just two white ends would show.
Then one of us would choose. We each
would hope the other would step up.
Whoever chose - or by default
obtained - the larger part, would wish.
The wish just might be granted - if
you kept it to yourself and breathed
no word to anyone. That was
the challenge. Meet it, and you well
might have your heart's desire. But what
if it came true for you? What then?
Could some malignant spirit steal
the booty from your grasp? I have
to say, I never did find out,
and even now I cannot tell
you, friend, one word of what I wished.
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
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