http://slow.writerscafe.org/MollyCara The original writings of author Molly Cara en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776003277 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 A little turtle pauses on the path, still as stone. He’s made it half way to the grass. A sunflower arches like a branch, back-bends over the grass, and waitsfor the turtle to scuttle… just a few more inches. The sky looks like atombstone. Apollo, why so slow to draw the sun across.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1237432/ 8 AM: Insects whistle like wind inthe mountains, like the ocean’s air at night.I walk the pebble path. God chars leaves tillthey’re coarser than rust, and God needs no fire. Each cherry on the tree is the eye of some bug,and each eye is a window, including mine. I can’t t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1233812/ One sound, two vessels, one of them convex when you look at it from the left, its back hunched like my grandfather’s. The other’s ina twist, it’s half a figure eight, a sine wave on its side. Upright for the first time,with no legs to walk, no jaw to unhinge,and no w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1232240/ Cattails c**k their heads like they mean to askhow the leaves got freckles, how the berriesgot fuzz, how green apples got sun burnt red.One bumble bee nests in a yellow rose,and now the rose has black stripes. This rose lookslike a funnel, a whirlpool, a red rosewith a gentler color. It looks like a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1231674/ Mosquitoes congregate in a lilypad formation. They swarm us all at once. Lightning strikes beyond the hills, silent asprayer. And like prayer, it might strike us. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1231533/ Last night I dreamt of a diver, divingto drown her last life on this earth. She shotup through the air like a pistol, then downhead first into the pool, where she would stay. I awoke without breath and without rest, staring through the surface of my quilts tothe water’s martyr, burie.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1231021/ One time I found a bird’s nest on the ground, on the edge of a lawn, empty as thatwine bottle I promised you I’d fill withwild berries and even wilder flowers. Since no bird called it home, I took it home. It sits on my desk, and it belongs therelike a finch on a phone wir.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1229249/ A deer crosses the street. Headlights freeze in their tracks as though they can slow the metalbehind them. You and I watch as we walk. I speak only in whispers because theflowers look like ears, like open channels.You ask, how happy are you on a scaleof one to ten, with ten being happy?&nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1228281/ By daylight the lake appearsto be missing its stars. The black hole is now a blue island, trimmed in green and brown.  Patches of shadow stretch out in their beds beneath the trees. Branches bear flowers, and tree trunks branch three ways, like braids come loose... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1227507/ I imagine you somewhere where summer is steadfast as Polaris, that lighthouse in the sky. You’re standing on the shoreline.  The portion of the ocean you can see is the greenest blue part of the water. The sand behind you stretches out as far as  the w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1227506/ I. The performer curls himself around thesubway pole like he’s a vine of ivy. Some of the captive audience clap andothers turn their heads. II. On the beach there’s a freak show that featuresa man with skin like elastic, a girlwho eats fire, and a woman you can slicewith a swor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1226889/ I close the blinds over the town outside, where the raindrops have clawed at the window,where the air is slicked with mist that missedthe storm this morning. I close them overa family of turkeys and a hawksquawking, flaunting how the air accepts his wings. How bronze they would be if my ey.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1226527/ Come back, with thicker hair and thicker skin,freer in the deeper part of summer. Here we have birdsong, bugsong, pine needleslike long fingernails. All the ice is ash. Do not mourn yourself before you are missed. I will not say I miss you. But you mustmiss the underground train, the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1225480/ Sweet As If Come Fall, I’ll be in the house behind thebush of white and violet lilacs. I’ll tastepeaches, sweet  as ifthey were in season.  Come, Fall, and I’ll remember cicadas’lace wings, and how quickly clouds dissolved inAu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1223990/ I cross the boardwalk to the sand to the Atlantic,the color of green quartz. No waves. Just a few folds in the ocean.So many heads, and necks, and shoulders. And shells. I’d like to take one home: the one that’s orange,almost gold. It might slip through my fingers like&nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1221028/ Morning storms in warm. She’s draped inshapeless shade. The drapes part. Part of the rain still falls, and lands in the seagreen grass. The trees have leaves like feathersthat can’t seem to find the sky. White rain splatters yellow in the lightof the lamp. The downpou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1220065/ The scene wavers through the smoke.Hot coals in the clouds light them orangetill they glow. Till we blow them grey,like smoke from a runaway flame.Like a thread of spider web. Like a strand of mother’s hair. Like air. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1219042/ Your lower lip quivers. Your tongue laps the shore and splashes.The sun sinks into you.I slip into you, into the ripplingspotlight. I sip you like white wine. I let you get to my head,my flesh, my face http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1215786/ Half these trees are shadows, but which ones?Something’s clouding the lens of the sun. Maybe clouds. It’s after amber hours. Not black. White. Like sugar on ice. Two token golden pulsarstars pump the wind like blood. The wind stirs my blood. Curls my hair. Carrie.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1213614/ Bugs hum. Mist thickens the horizon. The moon rises, then falls behind the cloud line. She slides like an ice cube down the surface of the sky. She settles on thehem of the sunset. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1212103/ You've made a stage of the sidewalk. You dance like dust beneath a lantern.The rain accompanies you. It hits you,and you’re music. A thousand shadows secede from night.You are their siren. The rain is yours. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1211204/ I. I’m listening to winged things sing songsin praise of trees. I know all the tunes and none of the words, like Friday night serviceat temple. It’s Friday night, and the moon is wrapped in cloud. For modesty’s sake. As if the moon is modest. I’m in the ba.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1210106/ I'm in the pond, floating on my back.I sense the weight of the heat on my face,your weight in your mother's arms.I wonder if water ever looks for itself in the sky. I'm wet with pond and sweat, staring throughthe moon, searching for something hotter and bluer.I'm holding you. I can sense the we.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1208785/ I. The skin of the sky sags on its bones, folds itself around us. It's starrier than everwith the glitter of insect wings.It's bitter, the first sip of liquor.We're out on the rooftop, listening tofireworks.. II. In the morning we pick lilies with red petals,orange middles, and try not to .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1207230/ Strings of rain strangle the heat. The fields are green and geeseless. Bees hover over flowers I don’t knowthe names of, or how nectar becomes honeybut it does.Thank you for the rain and the rainbow. I’m lost and rosy-shouldered, watching things fly. You know, I&rsquo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1203109/ The psychic says, “Come here let me tell your fortune using only playing cards. Choose a card, any card. That’s the two of spades. No I don’t know what it means.”No, I don’t know what it means. In the nightmare I’m trappedin an art museum, looking at pai.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1199394/ A guy on St. Marks Place sells lollipopsfor five dollars each. I buy five and send themto you to the wrong address with a note that says:Have you noticed that roses crack and crumble to dust, like us, but faster? You don’t write back.Forget forgiveness. I promise distance. I made a d.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1198537/ This evening looks like noon but sounds like night, with all the cricket sirens. The moon’s silver scalp barely breaks the surface of the sky. I tell Emma-- my dog-- I’ve worked out time travel. Trees lean forward to eavesdrop, especially the old magnolia, who wa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1197004/ The river ripples. Its current crushes rocks into pebbles into sand. The wind ripplesthe grass-- green feathers, green fur of the earth. You cut some roses from the earth.Their red souls rise and turn white as ghosts,as salt, as soap, as foam from the ocean. Give them to a girl who li.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1193226/ Heaven is sweating outside. The moth on the glass door beats his wings, which are whiter than moonlight when the moon is full and white. It’s the lamp inside he wants, the dull yellow blaze of the imitation flame. Who can blame him? Who wouldn’t lose th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1188307/ The garden has been walled in. Inside, it swells with vegetation. Everyone can smell it but no one can see it: the magnolia petals, pink and brown and velvet, or the bushes of mountain laurel. Mountain laurel looks likeorigami. That’s how I know Mother nature.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1187868/ The trees shake the rain from themselvesand the rain hits the window. I’m embarrassed since my room’s a mess,to have the rain and its tasters looking in. The girls lie out under the thunder, in sheets made out of beads. I open the window and pretend I am one of them,&.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1181506/ Snow White Like the queen I look to the looking glass and ask it who’s the fairest. Ella’s face appears. She is my Snow White, with skin as peach as peaches.  E, is there a squatter in your mirror, more beautifulthan you? Maybe a woman with copper cu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1180700/ The sun heats the pond till it rises, invisible. Clouds cast shadows on the hilltops. Do you recognize my perfume?It’s the same the wet grass wears whentrying to seduce bare feet. You’re topless. I’m not. I’ve always envied youmen. Not in any Freudian sense, ju.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1178415/ I’m sitting in a field, sipping wine the color of wind. Wind is the color of water, so maybethe wine is water. I’m too drunk to tell. Two kinds of dandelions grow here, ones that look like suns and ones that can be wished on. And there are little white flowers wi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1177800/ The rainstorm churns inside the clouds. We watch the dance of branches and blossoms chart the wind. You say you’re thinking of leaving, you’re the only one here I feel close to, and the boughs of the willow fall like a beaded curtain over the earth. Don’t think I don’t k.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1172629/ Birds twitter. Ferns unfurl. The sky looks like the inside of a geode, so if you’ve never seen a geode, go out and see the sky. Don’t wait too long. The light dries up and the colors disappear, as if by magic, as if pulled into a mirror. Then, you can look up and see star.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1168372/ *Work-in-progress; I will add more as I write more http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1166649/ SNAKE: It was night. It was blacker than frostbitten skin. I coiled around her feet. I offered up the apple, saying, “Eve it isn't sin, and it isn't poison. Fruit was made to be tasted.” So she took it. She bit into it. She swallowed and her eyes rolled back, like she.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1163197/ Rae scrapes a shaft of light off the wall. She folds it like a sheet of paper, overand over, till she’s made a swan. She carries him outside on her palm.She sets him on the pond. He arches to the sky, to prayto the late moon. The moon says, “Where did you come fr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1163195/ Stars bathe in daylight. Blue jays dive into the sky.Where’s Echo?Hiding in the hollow of a tree.  Stars bathe in daylight. Blue jays dive into the sky.Where’s Echo?Hiding in the hollow of a tree.  It’s a willow tree. Its boughs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1159448/ The sun hits the hilltops in zigzags.Night hasn't fallen fordays, and we miss readingstories into stars. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1158959/  The bush with the orange leavesis always burning down. All dayshe’s burning down, saying,“I’d like to shadow the sun  and learn the waysof glowingsoftly.” http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1158956/ I want the graveyard.I want it the way plants that are kept indoors want the rain, without ever having felt it.So I walk through the hailto the graveyard. I walk through the darkto the graveyard. And I stand in the hail in the darkin the graveyard. And.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1158952/ Berries hang like jewelsfrom chains.Black butterfliesseize the sky. The pond alonestays calm in thisuntimely cold.  .I can’t tellsmoke from sky except for the wayit curls. Thelandscape isbreathless. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1158951/  I asked the fruit in the bowlwhy it refuses to rot. It said it’s waiting to be painted.  Then it asked me aboutthe lines at my lips and I told it aboutour faces, how they record the way they contort over the years.And how.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1158950/ Daylight retreats behind the horizon.The rain we have been dancing for comes onto us. It washes our hands and our faces and weshed our sweaters.We open our armsin soap operatic fashion and the rain says,“Sorry I’m late. I just wantedto watc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1158949/ Mother Earth says she lovesthe other planets more than she could ever love the sun.  Her hair is both blue and grey. Her nails are as red as the blood they draw.  Friend, I am nowhere if not with you and I am not with you.I am angry, and it drives me.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1158948/ Speech is to thought as body is to soul. I wish I could stop wasting silencepreparing what to say next. When I am a volcanoI’ll sit still until I spill and soon again be still. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1126564/ Branches bristle, electrified. There’s lavender sand in the sky. No, the moon isn’t newit’s in hiding. You’re grieving. Of courseEven grief leaves you and the loss generatesgrief. It’s flying season. Wax wings only workin winter. Love melts.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/MollyCara/1126563/