2 prose poems – Louella Lester

After the Flood

This morning, water begs wind to hold back, saying it can now manage nothing more than a ripple. Just enough to slip and slide a measure of comfort across the girl’s toes. And wind listens, having had its fun last night when it forced water to wash away her home.

Unable to Takeoff

Most days she climbs the steps from under the bridge, a basket hooked over each elbow. Fingers curled. Arms looped upward to form wings on either side. Hoping to fly, she waits for the light to change, then scurries off like a sandpiper stuck on a beach.