Letter From A Potato

The wind chime hung from the roof of the abandoned house , it swayed calmly and slowly against the wind , everything seemed peaceful . We - my father and I - sat on the porch of the rundown house that only we knew about . It was dark and I wasn’t the biggest fan of the night , the night is unpredictable but yet so beautiful .

It was a hot, searing day as the sun beat down on my skin. The lush green palm trees provided me shade as I sat and observed my surroundings. Children, barefoot and dirty, wearing tattered and stained clothes were running around laughing and playing. Their joyous giggles put a smile on my face and warmed my heart as I watched them.

Bodies collided against each other. His hands trailed up my torso lingering on the ridges of my ribs. Hot kisses were placed against my chest slowly before continuing up my neck. The temperature in the room seemed to change, growing molten hot the closer he came to my lips. I twitched in anticipation, sparks were flying all around our bodies. My hands pulled at the smooth sheets beneath me. He was so close to me, so personal. I had barely enough space to breath. His lips finally joined with mine igniting a flame between us. His arms wrapped around me, lifting me without disconnecting our lips. We broke apart briefly before meeting again. The candles around us flickered in the breeze coming from a nearby open window.

As the wind brushed the back of my dress, I turned around to overlook the waves of golden ocean, pouring into the small town I called home. But, my eyes became fixed on the sun. It was so wonderful, so beautiful as it rose out of its slumber in the mountains. I always felt the sun’s warmth on my cloudy white dress, and I loved how it always felt like my father’s hugs.

After I visited the beautiful roses in my garden, a heavy rain poured out. “There is a storm”, I thought to myself. Strong winds blew hard, and rain drops trembled the night. As I go to my bed, I saw a merchant heading off to my house. “He looked so cold and weary”, I told. Out of pity, I decided

Swiftly taken with even the slightest, most gentle breeze, I have traveled across the country showing the world my existence. I blossomed from a small seed, once planted by a male and female farmer in Johnston, Rhode Island. I grew outside of their quaint yellow house, in the soft-lush-flourishing grasses, where their children played among flowers and nature. Peaceful and serendipitous were the two words to describe my everlasting life, until the storm struck.

She looked towards me, her face growing ever paler, she trembled, as tears began to run down her, once rosy red cheeks. her gaping mouth began to move, trying to form words. however she found it difficult as her breath was leaving her

There’s a little crunch as I step on the colorful dead leaves. It’s quiet and alone in the little park. I decided to take a stroll earlier. The smell of fresh rain clears my head of all its problems. The sun begins to peek through the gray clouds.

Many thoughts ran through my head in the moments after I first laid eyes on The New One, but the first one was HOME. I felt this thought in my gut and in my bones, it made my breath hitch and my shoulders sag. He looked to me like home. I saw in him the village of my youth, my mother's smile, and heard the lullaby of times past.

It’s sudden, sweeping by like a torrent, leaving you listening with tilted head. You’re reminded of that one afternoon, late summer, evening. Outside with your brothers, with the smell of rain on your tongue and the dry, packed dirt under bare feet. The sound comes, but louder, different. Your brother shouts, laughing, pointing. A mad dash for the door as water rushes from the sky in a sheet, just across the street. You sprint on dry grass as it rolls closer, pounding, wet, drenching. But this, tonight, is just sweeping, dry and cool, impending, whispering of fall nights and less of an Indian summer than when you were younger. Leaves shake on the trees, but still green, they cling on to branches and

Autumn had just commenced so the leaves began to change from stunning lime green to a beautiful golden yellow. The wind furiously blew everything in its course without remorse. Although windy, the weather was unexpectedly warm. The sun’s rays were almost blinding in the cloudless pellucid blue sky. Yet, despite this delightful weather I could not help but feel uneased.

I wake up and think I am in our old house in the countryside. The sun is streaming through the window from rolling, green hills outside, and I can smell my mother’s cooking wafting through the house. Soon the day will begin, a long day, of weaving cloth.

As the day grew longer I felt a bitter chill of the slowly covering sun. As I felt the shift in weather I yearned for the warmth of my fathers arms as he wrapped them around me when I was cold. Being the protection of my cousin I longed for my own as I once had as a child. I wanted to feel the security when my father held out his hand for my own. When in the moment of my hand holding his pinky in that my fingers were too small to intertwine with his, I felt as if I had a shield to protect me from any

I can’t remember where I put my house key yesterday, but I can remember your strong arms. I can still see the way you wore your work shirts with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows. I can almost feel the wind on my face as you spun me around and around. Those arms were stronger than anything else in the whole world– except for maybe my doubts.

I held her hand, feeling the love passing through, just like an electrical current. The mother and daughter stood, facing each other. I stared at my mother, counting all the wrinkles time carved deeply into her face, trying to seek any beauty left from the old days. Mother was old, she was exhausted from raising me up, and I am old enough to leave home and let her rest.