Due to the way you bend my neck,
leave me craning,
I can only catch a glimpse
of you swimming
in the early morning shadow
that surrounds my white halo.
Your fingers tap and eyes stare
as you lean back in the creaky chair
between sips of sweetly pungent raspberry tea,
completely disregarding me
when it steams up my eye.
For a moment,
I am a blinded Cyclops.
If you could please move the cup
just a couple of inches,
I would appreciate it.
Kim M. Russell, 2017
I tried to take a photograph in the dark with the light switched on but it’s a halogen-type bulb and the image didn’t come out so well. So here’s the lamp in daylight!
Lorraine reminds us that in Disney films, or nightmares, or psychedelic ramblings, inanimate objects take on lives of their own, for example: talking teapots, rampaging brooms, breathing walls or philosophizing couches. She wants us to think what life would be like as our alarm clocks or kitchen chairs; how the train feels about the commuting passengers, the elevator about its riders, or the computer its user.
Our challenge is to weave a tale from the perspective of an object, say something around the house, or within the broader world or a dialogue between a real (or fictional character) person and that object.