Maranda Poire’s Writing Portfolio:
Here you will find some of my favorite written pieces, along with links to my published works. Feel free to contact me with questions or comments. I am open to assisting in anything from editing a resume to proofreading an entire novel. Enjoy!
The Slow Go
The slow go
Of your soft touch
Onto moist skin In the summer grind
That’s what drives me wild
It devours me whole
Crunches my bones Into dust-dreams
Sweeping along the coast
I peel inhibitions off my mind
We slide together
Two souls melting
Under scorching heat
Raining from sea-clouds
Salt-sweat beads from my breast
A low wave paints our silhouette
One figure of passion
In the way of nature
Our ocean crashes like symbols
The slow go
Of your soft touch
On my sandy skin In the summer
Grind
Parallels excerpt
Click to Read
“Gale, the navigation isn’t updating our route. Are you sure you put in the right address to the hotel?”
“Of course I did, Tom. Clara, you didn’t touch Dad’s phone, did you?”
I shake my head and think I see Dad swerve. I think it’s funny when he hits the rumble strips on highways.
“Are you really going to blame our seven-year-old?” Dad laughs. “It’s got three passcodes and facial thingies to even unlock the darn thing.”
“Yeah, well, she’s pretty smart, hun. Your password hasn’t changed in five years, either. Here, let me check again.” Mom unclips the phone from its holder.
Dad leans over to let the phone see his face.
Am I screaming? Or is it Mom?
A white van is next to my window. I feel my body being pulled left and right. The air is suddenly under my body and I floated. Shattering sounds ring in my ears. I see Mom with glass in her skin. Blood is dripping.
Dad yells, “Are you ok, Clara?”
My head hits hard and I smell smoke.
Everything is dark and slow. I feel my chest tighten. I can’t move.
I remember police sirens. Those are loud. Ambulances screech around the wreck.
“Gale!” Dad screams.
No. I need a blanket. It is too cold.
I hear Dad scream again. This time, it is hard to understand. And the sirens briefly stop and play in reverse. A gust of wind punches my lungs and I take in a sharp breath.
“Gale, the navigation isn’t updating our route. Are you sure you put in the right address to the hotel?”
“Of course I did, Tom. Clara, you didn’t touch Dad’s phone, did you?”
I shake my head and think I see Dad swerve. I think it’s funny when he hits the rumble strips on highways.
Wait. I just saw this. What? Was it a dream? I don’t want to die. What is this?
“Are you really going to blame our seven-year-old?” Dad laughs. “It’s got three passcodes and facial thingies to even unlock the darn thing.”
I think back. It’s fuzzy; the tumbling and glass and sirens. I don’t want us to hurt.
“Yeah, well, she’s pretty smart, hun. Your password hasn’t changed in five years, either. Here, let me check again.” Mom unclips the phone from its holder.
“No!” I shout.
Mom looks at me. “What’s wrong, Clara?”
“Dad, watch the road.”
A white van in the left lane starts driving diagonally. Dad slows down as it cuts in front of us. He hits the rumble strip. The van speeds past and nearly hit the blue truck in front of us.
My parents stay quiet and pull into the breakdown lane. They speak quietly so I can’t hear. Mom presses buttons on the navigation after Dad safely unlocks it with his facial reading.
I saved us.
I saved Mom.