At the end of my life, I considered my most significant accomplishment to be simply me——a woman.

It didn’t matter that I shouted my angst against the war in Vietnam.

It didn’t matter that I had protested, vehemently, Monsanto and Ford’s three-time bailout.

It didn’t matter that I had sold more lipstick than the other gals, and it didn’t even matter that I had won a car.

What mattered was that I built a home, wrote poetry, found refuge in my garden. I shared my wealth.

What really mattered is that I accepted the life he chose for himself–the way he wanted to live–and who he was meant to be.

Robin Christensen

*****

I woke to another dull day as usual.

Same daily routine, but I am nothing if not predictable.

Home, train, work, sometimes a stop at the store for necessities, on Payday’s, I sometimes grab a Pizza. Then of course it’s back home.

However, a startling interruption of reality as one of my neighbor’s was being attacked. I didn’t think, I just charged in, a mad rush of noise that made no real sense, the sharp smell of a brisk winter evening, but no real sense of anything else.

I can’t say how long it took, but the thug ran off.

My neighbor tells me the ambulance is coming.

I can only think, I am happy for the one day I lived.

J. Graymayne

(This weeks prompt contributed by Jeannie Browning)