Peggy Worrell reads from Proudflesh, her recently published collection of short fiction, at a Parkland Writer's Alliance (PWA) event at Yorkton Public Library September 16. Worrell, better known as Peggy Weinmaster in Yorkton, said she was very happy to be back in Yorkton for the reading. The book, published by Thistledown Press has been described as "gripping, dark and sexual by the award-winning Canadian poet Lorna Crozier. The event, dubbed "Aggregate" in recognition that the writing group is more that the sum its parts, was co-sponsored by the PWA, Library and Yorkton This Week. It also featured readings by PWA members and entrants in the group's summer Writers Contest.
he was a day past 90
asleep in the afternoon
too corpse-like for comfort
we entered his room quietly
like fathers checking
on dreaming children
listening for soft breaths
our sister gently, mother-like
touched his shoulder
and half-whispered, "Dad"
startled, he rose on his right elbow
disoriented, almost lost
in a mild nightmare
"It's ok, Dad, we came to see you
for your birthday."
then as his eyes and heart
adjusted to the light
he said, "I thought I'd died."
caught off guard
we laughed, relieved
as death pushed past us
out of the room
Dale Winnitowy
By Sharon Nerbas
I doubt that I would have even dared to dream of buying the house had I known that I would become so entranced with it - to the point that I felt I had to be constantly on my guard against unintentionally disclosing to some discerning listener the details of my latest project.
Because my talent has brought untold wealth from an early age, cost has never been a factor. I can have access to unlimited resources at any time, any place, and at a moment's notice. The mansion, listed as an estate sale, was the most incredible find, and I wasted no time in making an offer that simply could not be refused. It was, after all, the house of my dreams. It mattered not that I could never put it up for resale nor expect any kind of financial gain--such were the terms of the contract. I wanted it just for me, for now, to enjoy however I wished. Yes, it was perfect. Architecturally sound, lovingly cared for, attractively landscaped - the house invited more luxury, the type of which I was already so endowed. Wealth would automatically be drawn to me in such an atmosphere.
The rooms were perfect, furnished with all the richness and grandeur of a former age. I loved it.
And, since the contents had been included in the purchase price, all I had to do was wander through each room at my leisure, enjoying and appreciating the richness of color and décor. Of course, I wanted no reminders of the past owners. And no, I would not replace the stairwell pictorial with ancestral portraits of my own family. They must not learn of this house. They simply don't realize that my wealth is mine alone to save or squander as I please.
It used to be cute. They said so many times when they still thought that I was cute. They encouraged my talent. When had it all changed? Why must I be so secretive? Why must I guard my interests so diligently?
They say that I'm just a builder of air castles - that it's time I put my talent to use and made some real money with it. They don't understand that wealth can take different forms. I readily acknowledge the valuable inheritance that provided the basis, but it has been I who nurtured and developed my wealth. Perhaps I might have been persuaded, at some point, to share my methods of generating riches, but they simply would not comprehend, having no concept of the 'use it or lose it' philosophy.
I need no raised eyebrows. I need no snickers or sly looks. They think that I'm a candidate for the loony bin. They don't realize what a rare gift my talent is, how I can use it daily without a worry of it running out. I know beyond a doubt that there will always be more wealth brewing. However, I'm quite aware that I can't keep the house a secret for long. Someone always seems to find out.
Perhaps I'll stumble on a new diversion just as I stumbled onto the house at the opportune time.
It saddens me, but I must move on. I can allow no sentimentality, much as I would like to wallow in it.
Of course, in my heart I know that I can revisit the house at any time simply by dreaming it up, but I cannot grant myself that privilege anymore. On the other hand, I know that I can't simply walk away and hope to shut it out of my mind. I must have absolute closure. The undoing of my projects must be as secretive and above suspicion as the developing of them. The time has come to prepare for future endeavors. However, first I need to work out a plan, perhaps prepare an alibi.
It can be as dramatic as I choose. Ah yes, untold wealth has so many benefits. Again, I can do as I please. I have options to destroy, just as I have options to build. Perhaps my projects are air castles, but to me, they are castles. I love all the creations, imaginary though they may be, that my fertile mind has constructed, especially that beloved mansion. But it's clearly time to move on. That's why tomorrow morning, before I even get out of bed, I'm hitting my dream house with a wrecking ball.
By Dabria Karapita, age 15
I wish I had never suggested walking this far. I wish we had just stayed home. I wish there was at least a cloud in the sky to shield us from this blistering, nauseating heat!
Yes, I was complaining. And I'll admit my mood was very sour. But when you have another six blocks to walk before you arrive home, your head is pounding, and you're sweating buckets as the sun streams its melting hot rays onto you and the black asphalt, you're not exactly in the mood to jump up and down for joy. Instead, you wish you were anyplace but walking outside with enough UV rays beating down on your back to melt the plastic off a playground.
Too bad wishing gets you nowhere.
"I'm thiwsty, Wobyn."
I looked down at my little sister, Regan, as she trudged along, her four-year-old length legs keeping up a goodly pace compared to my sixteen-year-old ones.
I peeled her sweaty hand out of mine, and gave her the water bottle clipped to my belt.
"Aw we almoth home?" she asked, in-between gulping down the lukewarm liquid.
"Almost" is not the word I'd use to describe how much farther. Yorkton may be a smallish town that is growing, but it can appear huge to two tired, hot people walking home in the broiling heat. How I would love to be able to teleport home right now!
Home. Ice-cold water. Refreshingly air-conditioned bedroom.
But I'm stuck with walking on this never ending, steaming black road. Why did I pick one of the hottest days Yorkton has ever seen to start out on a walk?
I stomped, yes actually stomped, my foot. Complaining was NOT helping my mood right now.
"We just have to keep on going," I said, re-clipping the water to my belt, and re-attaching my slippery-from-sweat hand to my sister's.
Regan nodded, swiping her wet blond bangs away from her rosy face. All of a sudden her bluebell eyes lit up.
"I know what we'll do, Wobyn!" she exclaimed, excitement bubbling over her voice. "We'll athk Daddy-Gawd to cowver the thun with thome nithe poofy cowds!"
I scanned the bright blue sky. There were a few pitiful clouds in the far horizon, but none anywhere close enough to the yellow mass of heat that was tanning my skin by the second to provide some shade.
I was about to say the obvious, "Regan, to be honest, those clouds don't look nearly large enough to give us any shade. And I doubt God is interested in whether we're hot or not. He has bigger issues to think about."
But I stopped myself, and my eyes actually looked down at the ground in embarrassment.
Robyn, did you really just think that? Do you honestly believe that God doesn't care about you? What about the verse in the Bible that says He cares about the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, and how much more does He care for you?
"Alright, Regan, let's pray."
So there, on Sunset Drive, I listened with my head bowed and my eyes closed as my four-year-old sister said a sweet prayer, asking that "you give uth thome thade, Daddy-Gawd, becauth we're vewwy hot."
"Amen," I murmured.
"Come on, Wobyn, we've got to thart wawking. Daddy-Gawd's goona give uth thade!" Regan said. The happiness and expectation was so vibrant in her voice that I let out a laugh, swooped her up in my arms, and ran a few steps with her.
I jerked to a stop as a shadow covered the ground. I looked at Regan. And I slowly looked up at the sky, my mouth gaping open in wonderment.
The sky was covered with puffy white clouds, blocking out the sun.
But- but those clouds weren't there before! I saw the puny clouds that where in the sky! How-
Stop, Robyn. Stop trying to figure it out. You prayed and God answered. Simple as that.
Trying to figure it out wasn't going to help me out, either.
But as we strolled home, shielded from the scorching heat, I watched Regan's sweet little blonde pigtails bouncing and realized that I knew something that was helpful.
Going to Daddy-Gawd, with complete trust, in prayer.
by Brandine X aka @drhashtagbaby
Today I strolled an #EveningWalk
I meditated my walk
Like a #ForceOfNature
Just breathing in the walk.
I saw #nature
In its purest form.
To many,
It was just #AnotherSummer
To me,
I found #MyCalling.
I absorbed the #Children'sLaughter
Meanwhile hoping on a few hopefuls
To be #RealMen
Undaunted by the forray
Of #HumanGosSIPpery.
I went to the only bar
In search of #FreeWiFi
But my work is where i ended up.
I heard two #FrenchMen
Speaking in their #MotherTongue
They said #Hello
I said #Salut
The look in their eyes
#C'estBeau
A forever changEdddd town
#C'estBeau
#OurSunset
#OurLove
#OurBoat
