creative work
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the world needs more pretty words less ugly deaths more dandelion wreaths and butterfly kisses less flying vitriol and bullets more hearts beating in unison as we look across seas of faces and realize our differences are nothing in comparison to our sameness.
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Some things shouldn’t change. My first job was one that did. Last week, I posted this piece on Medium. I wrote it last semester for Advanced Creative Writing and have been holding onto it, waiting to be sure I wasn’t returning to my old job and wanting to be careful about where I shared it
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The City Hall librarian, wearing fly-eyed, red-rimmed glasses, constantly talks to herself in a thick, nasal New York accent — whether or not people are around to listen. She only stops when the phone rings and she has to answer. On the way out of the room, she told another librarian she’d be right back.
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I saw a ghost today. I greeted him with a hello, asked him “how’s life?” and made him a sandwich. He did the same for me, minus the sandwich. I was nervous as he watched me cover the bread with chicken, cheese, and peppers. My hands shook, but I did my best to hide it
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All we do is make fireworks. Here, like us, for a moment. Gone after a few flutters of lashes. Our hearts may be in it all effort thrown forth. But our hearts, our efforts are weak, short-lasting. The burst of light, thunder-like boom, a moment of wonder, beauty that fizzles out, darkens, drops. Such great work, resulting
Meredith Sell 