From our back window I watched wind whipping the snow and was struck by how much it reminded me of the ice cream of my youth–the pines were the twisty tops of drippy cones and the drifts like clouds of soft-serve so sweet that she came to mind.

The summer I met her was full of sunburnt days on the beach, nights spent holding soft, warm and sweaty, and empty dishes of runny chocolate and vanilla, tossed aside there in the sand as easily as all those previous summer romances.

The wind breathed cold against a dip out by the oak stump, as if scooping another big plastic spoonful of memory I’d long since let melt away, as I sighed a warm smear of my own feelings of empty dishness against the windowpane.

“What in the world’s so interesting out there in the middle of a blizzard?” Barbara asked, tapping me on the shoulder and breaking my frosty reverie.

“Umm, nothing…but whaddaya say we go out and get ourselves a sundae or something?”  I said, brushing a strand of gray behind her ear and hugging her close, soft, warm and dry.

Ten minutes of first-draft Five Sentence Fiction combining Lillie McFerrin’s prompt FROZEN with my dear friend Heather Grace Stewart’s new Take Ten Thursday feature at her blog, Where the Butterflies Go. Heather’s photo prompt is at the top of this almost-story.  Maybe it’s a prose poem. If it is, then I won’t feel so stupid linking it to Sam Peralta’s call for them at dVerse.

16 thoughts on “Soft-Serve

  1. As I wrote on Twitter, I love this, but now I want a sundae! On a warm beach. Thanks so much for participating. Hey, this is really good stuff. I bet you could make a 50,000 word book out of it. I want to read more about that summer….

  2. There’s a gallon of premium vanilla in my freezer, strawberries and whipped cream in my fridge and oh,,, yep even chocolate sauce. Thanks for bringing my own memories back of those summer days on this frigid January night.

  3. Jesus, Joe, or is it JoeJesus? You get involved in the coolest prompts; five minute writes, ten minute 100 FWF, 55 words; reminding me that run on spontaneous poetics can take you exciting places, writing with your pants around your ankles, bare-assed, bareback,
    breezy, crazy; you are something else, brother; gets me all cranked up & digging it.

  4. this really bridged the prose into poetry – after I read it, I was thinking how one could quantify the “it”. I remain unsure except that I recognize “it” when I see it.

  5. Ice-cream: the unimaginable delight of my childhood, after the war years when we were deprived of such treats; the icing on the cake of my first ever seaside holiday at the age of 8 or 9. Your piece also brought vivid memories of those “hot, sweaty” teenage romances.

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