Ekphrastic flash fiction
Artwork by Melinda Martin and flash fiction by Sharon Waller Knutson
Christmas Chocolate Cherries
Christmas Chocolate Cherries
When I was six and my sister three my grandmother gave us each a quarter and took us to Benjamin Franklin’s five and dime to buy presents for our parents for Christmas.
Mama loved jewelry so Judy and Grandma were looking through the bracelets, earrings
and necklaces. “Go get your daddy some Old Spice,” Grandma told me.
I found a red box with a photo of a cherry and white frosting flowing out of a chocolate.
“Queen Anne Cordial Cherries,” my grandmother reads.
I had no idea what it was but my grandmother asked if that was what I wanted to get my father and I nodded and plunked down my quarter.
My grandmother stuck it in a drawer and said she’d help us wrap the presents Christmas Eve. But curious as the Calico, my sister and I opened the box. We held a chocolate cup in our palms and used both fingers to pry them open and with our tongues scooped oud swallowed the syrup. Then we chewed the cherry and the chocolate savoring the sweet taste and put the box back in the drawer, repeating the ritual night after night until there was only one left.
On Christmas Eve, Grandma gave us the wrapping paper and we wrote “For Daddy” on a tag and placed it under the tree. When daddy opened it, his dark eyes widened. He laughed. and we giggled.
Every Christmas, it became a game and we’d buy daddy a box of Queen Anne Cordials
and eat all but one and he’d feign surprise and us innocence.
The family tradition continued even after we left home. We’d return with jewelry and perfume for mother and sweaters and Queen Anne’s for daddy and eat all the chocolates but one.
Last December, I ask my husband for a box of Queen Anne’s. “What about the diabetes?”
he asks. “I promise I’ll eat only one,” I lie.
On Christmas Day, I open the box and eat the only chocolate left. My husband laughs and
I feign innocence.
Editor’s note: “Christmas Chocolate Cherries” was previously published as a poem on Your Daily Poem and Artist Melinda Martin created her artwork with the same name as part of Optical Evocation, a show featured at the Brunswick Glynn County Library in Brunswick, GA in April and May.
Photo by Al Knutson and flash fiction by Sharon Waller Knutson
My Mother’s Head is in the Clouds
The sun bakes my bare back as I take the hiking trail winding between Saguaro and the green Palo Verde.
Soft white clouds tower like a giant snow castle we crafted with gloved hands in our back yard in Montana, before lying on our backs spreading our angel wings, scooping up a bowl of snow
and running into the kitchen.
We stirred in milk, sugar and vanilla while mother hovered behind us, her red hair piled upon her head, dish rag in hand wiping up our mess.
As I reach the top of the hill, the snow castle melted into a ghostly silhouette of my mother,
her white hair floating in a blue-sky river.
Elizabeth (Betty) Lampe, Laurie Byro’s mother
Photo: Black and White, Passaic 1959 by Laurie Byro
The man and woman stand in the old-fashioned kind of spring snow. The man lifts his daughter, fat with layered cotton, to the camera like a prize. Drifts of snow surround them like white éclair islands. There is a sidewalk partially covered. It will lead them to an apartment, or to the park.
The city collects itself, full of noise and dirt, and presents itself sparkly as a diamond icicle wand, just beyond the lens. The man is wearing a wool Panama hat, so we know it must be Sunday. The woman is taking her cue from Hepburn, fancy in narrow pants, long and exotic as the brown cigarette
she holds. “A drunk will set fire to the living room to warm the house,” she warns her child. A series of stray cats show up at their door, each one demanding its place in her world.
The girl will choose not to have children and adopt the worst cases, the three-legged and the blind. Each new one will love her
beyond the point of starting over. It is easy to imagine how the woman’s mind turns on itself in the years to follow. Fears grow like the ash on no-longer exotic cigarettes. Anxiety overflows like butts off every China dish in the house. Her daughter will pour bottle after bottle down the sink.
Voices rise, and then the silent world after a snowfall begins. A door slams shut to the outside. In the picture the shy child waves to her future. She is content with the cold comfort of Sunday snow. Most days, her young father will work until he is giddy with the hour, and then he will tell her ghost stories, rub her back
until she falls asleep. Her mother will threaten to crush her own fingers with a hammer so that she doesn’t have to tie her shoes and send her off to school. She will pull the telephone off the wall so that no one can phone the doctor for help. She will tell everyone before she dies that the two people here are her best friends in all the world, as loyal as dogs. They gave her everything, they took nothing away. Her shy daughter still feeds the strays.
A Troubled-Looking Woman Bakes Bread Before the Storm by Luane Castle
after Andrea Kowch’s “In the Distance” (2015)
When the scream sliced the still air of the kitchen, she dashed to the wheat field, wiping her floury hands on her apron. The small farmhouse rose behind her like an oasis, but all she could see ahead was an undulating gold.
Rising bread dough in her kitchen deflated. Warm loaves cooled. The cat watched from the window, expecting the woman would come back soon. The men would come with her, ready for a pea soup lunch. The woman would sneak the cat a ham scrap. When the storm broke over the farmhouse, the cat still watched at the window.
after Andrea Kowch’s “In the Distance” (2015)
When the scream sliced the still air of the kitchen, she dashed to the wheat field, wiping her floury hands on her apron. The small farmhouse rose behind her like an oasis, but all she could see ahead was an undulating gold.
Rising bread dough in her kitchen deflated. Warm loaves cooled. The cat watched from the window, expecting the woman would come back soon. The men would come with her, ready for a pea soup lunch. The woman would sneak the cat a ham scrap. When the storm broke over the farmhouse, the cat still watched at the window.
Google photo of the Chinese Terracotta Soldiers
Simply a Smile (or Why the Soldier Smiled) by Joan Leotta
Inspired by the one smiling soldier in the exhibition of the Chinese Terracotta Soldiers in Atlanta, GA.
Many years ago, the great and powerful Lord Qin marched across fields, forests and rivers conquering all, until at last he could name himself Emperor over the vast and rich lands now known as China. Emperor Qin feared no man or thing. Only thoughts of his own death made his heart flutter like a plum blossom in the wind.
At last, the Emperor devised a strategy to retain his power for eternity. He ordered the making of an army of terracotta soldiers. Modeled from the forms and visages of the bravest of his actual warriors, this pottery army would conquer his enemies in the afterlife.
So, the next time that the Emperor’s forces swept through the villages to steal its sons for the army, young men known to have clay working talent were taken and sent to the worksite for building the Emperor's terracotta Army of the Afterlife and the others went on to conquer new lands for the Emperor in this life.
Simply a Smile (or Why the Soldier Smiled) by Joan Leotta
Inspired by the one smiling soldier in the exhibition of the Chinese Terracotta Soldiers in Atlanta, GA.
Many years ago, the great and powerful Lord Qin marched across fields, forests and rivers conquering all, until at last he could name himself Emperor over the vast and rich lands now known as China. Emperor Qin feared no man or thing. Only thoughts of his own death made his heart flutter like a plum blossom in the wind.
At last, the Emperor devised a strategy to retain his power for eternity. He ordered the making of an army of terracotta soldiers. Modeled from the forms and visages of the bravest of his actual warriors, this pottery army would conquer his enemies in the afterlife.
So, the next time that the Emperor’s forces swept through the villages to steal its sons for the army, young men known to have clay working talent were taken and sent to the worksite for building the Emperor's terracotta Army of the Afterlife and the others went on to conquer new lands for the Emperor in this life.
The Village
At that time, beside a mountain stream, there was a village blessed with an abundance of rich, red, clay. Over centuries the people of this village became renowned for their artistry in terracotta. That fame drew the Emperor’s attention, and one fine spring day his horsemen thundered toward that village to exact the cruel tax of one son per family.
Among the most talented families in the village was that of Li Wu. He had no sons, only a daughter. Her name was Li Hui Zhong. She crafted pottery that was deemed exceptional even in this village of superb achievement. Her slim fingers fashioned faces so real that people often said that her statues spoke.
But at that time it was not considered proper for young women to work in terracotta. So, Li Hui Zhong cut off her cascade of silken black hair. She dressed as a young man and covered her face with kiln ash to hide her soft features. The other people in the village respected her skill and her father’s need for a helper, so they kept her secret and she became known to all as Li Wu the Younger. Over the years, some even forgot that she was really a woman.
One young man, Hsiang Xirui, did not forget that hidden behind the kiln ash was a lovely young woman. He wanted to marry Li Hui Zhong.
"I will take you and your father behind the walls of our courtyard at our horse farm. You can work with terracotta as a woman. I will keep you safe," he told her.
Li Hui Zhong loved the strong, gentle Hsiang Xirui and agreed to marry him.
But Emperor Qin’s plans trampled the plans of the two young people. The Emperor was ready to exact his tax of sons upon the craftsmen's village.
At that time, beside a mountain stream, there was a village blessed with an abundance of rich, red, clay. Over centuries the people of this village became renowned for their artistry in terracotta. That fame drew the Emperor’s attention, and one fine spring day his horsemen thundered toward that village to exact the cruel tax of one son per family.
Among the most talented families in the village was that of Li Wu. He had no sons, only a daughter. Her name was Li Hui Zhong. She crafted pottery that was deemed exceptional even in this village of superb achievement. Her slim fingers fashioned faces so real that people often said that her statues spoke.
But at that time it was not considered proper for young women to work in terracotta. So, Li Hui Zhong cut off her cascade of silken black hair. She dressed as a young man and covered her face with kiln ash to hide her soft features. The other people in the village respected her skill and her father’s need for a helper, so they kept her secret and she became known to all as Li Wu the Younger. Over the years, some even forgot that she was really a woman.
One young man, Hsiang Xirui, did not forget that hidden behind the kiln ash was a lovely young woman. He wanted to marry Li Hui Zhong.
"I will take you and your father behind the walls of our courtyard at our horse farm. You can work with terracotta as a woman. I will keep you safe," he told her.
Li Hui Zhong loved the strong, gentle Hsiang Xirui and agreed to marry him.
But Emperor Qin’s plans trampled the plans of the two young people. The Emperor was ready to exact his tax of sons upon the craftsmen's village.
Plans Overtaken
On a spring day when the sky was blue and the air was filled with the scent of plum blossom, the Captain of the Emperor’s Guard rode into the village with a list of the young men who would be taken for the terracotta work and those that would be taken in addition for the regular army.
The Captain read loudly from a scroll, "It is the Emperor’s will that each family surrender one son. Some will make his new Army of the Afterlife and the others will have the usual honor of serving in the Imperial Army of this world."
First on the list of those to become terracotta workers was "Li Wu the Younger."
Li Wu wanted to take his daughter’s place. But how could he tell the Emperor and the rest of the world that he and his daughter had deceived them for so long? Tears ran down her clay-stained face like two mountain waterfalls. "I will go, Father, and serve the Emperor. Otherwise we will both be punished. Stay safe, dear Father."
The other village artists who were to be taken agreed to help Li Hui Zhong continue to live secretly as Li Wu the Younger. Both her father and she would be safe, but her heart was broken. Going to the worksite for the terracotta army would separate her from Hsiang Xiru. Her beloved had been selected for the Imperial Army.
Hsiang Xirui wanted to ride off into the hills with Li Hui Zhong but he knew that their families would be punished severely for such disobedience. So, his heart also broken, he obeyed and rode off to conquer more lands for the Emperor.
On a spring day when the sky was blue and the air was filled with the scent of plum blossom, the Captain of the Emperor’s Guard rode into the village with a list of the young men who would be taken for the terracotta work and those that would be taken in addition for the regular army.
The Captain read loudly from a scroll, "It is the Emperor’s will that each family surrender one son. Some will make his new Army of the Afterlife and the others will have the usual honor of serving in the Imperial Army of this world."
First on the list of those to become terracotta workers was "Li Wu the Younger."
Li Wu wanted to take his daughter’s place. But how could he tell the Emperor and the rest of the world that he and his daughter had deceived them for so long? Tears ran down her clay-stained face like two mountain waterfalls. "I will go, Father, and serve the Emperor. Otherwise we will both be punished. Stay safe, dear Father."
The other village artists who were to be taken agreed to help Li Hui Zhong continue to live secretly as Li Wu the Younger. Both her father and she would be safe, but her heart was broken. Going to the worksite for the terracotta army would separate her from Hsiang Xiru. Her beloved had been selected for the Imperial Army.
Hsiang Xirui wanted to ride off into the hills with Li Hui Zhong but he knew that their families would be punished severely for such disobedience. So, his heart also broken, he obeyed and rode off to conquer more lands for the Emperor.
The Emperor’s Workshop
Li Hui Zhong’s first sight of the vast village of terracotta workers was of rows of block-shaped work huts covered in a cloud of smoke that extended all the way to the mountains behind. Because of her great skills she was assigned to a hut up on the side of the mountain where she worked alone.
Below her, on the streets of the village, the soldiers for the Afterlife were formed in assembly-line fashion. The bravest of the Emperor’s soldiers came to the village, one by one, and met with each group of crafts’ people as a part of the process of copying them in clay.
On the first street, a set of workers fashioned arms, on another, the torso. The men then marched over to the street where legs were made. Another group replicated armor, and at last, each warrior went to the hut of a Master Sculptor to have their heads shaped into terracotta.
Each Master carefully patted the faces carefully imprinting the eyes, nose, and mouth, into their fingers so that they could impress those features into the clay. After the head was finished and fired by the Master in his own kiln, it was sent to the main assembling area and put together with the other clay pieces of the soldier. The finest of these Masters was Li Hui Zhong.
Li Hui Zhong’s first sight of the vast village of terracotta workers was of rows of block-shaped work huts covered in a cloud of smoke that extended all the way to the mountains behind. Because of her great skills she was assigned to a hut up on the side of the mountain where she worked alone.
Below her, on the streets of the village, the soldiers for the Afterlife were formed in assembly-line fashion. The bravest of the Emperor’s soldiers came to the village, one by one, and met with each group of crafts’ people as a part of the process of copying them in clay.
On the first street, a set of workers fashioned arms, on another, the torso. The men then marched over to the street where legs were made. Another group replicated armor, and at last, each warrior went to the hut of a Master Sculptor to have their heads shaped into terracotta.
Each Master carefully patted the faces carefully imprinting the eyes, nose, and mouth, into their fingers so that they could impress those features into the clay. After the head was finished and fired by the Master in his own kiln, it was sent to the main assembling area and put together with the other clay pieces of the soldier. The finest of these Masters was Li Hui Zhong.
The Emperor’s Army
Because his family raised horses, Hsiang Xirui quickly became a cavalry rider of distinction. In his first battle, he saved the life of one of his officers. Again and again he proved his bravery. Despite his low birth status, he was made an officer.
The soft features of the strong, gentle, young man became the scarred, sharp outlines of a warrior. Yet, for all of his glory in the Emperor’s service, Hsiang Xirui’s heart remained that of the gentle farm boy who loved Li Hui Zhong. He thought constantly of how he might find and rescue her.
Some five years after their parting, Hsiang Xirui received orders to go to the village of the terracotta warriors. He was honored by this assignment, but even more glad because he hoped to see his beloved there.
As his legs were measured and molds made, he scanned the crowd for someone he knew from home who might be able to lead him to Li Hui Zhong. As the craftsmen poked and prodded and sent him from one workshop to another, he prayed to find her.
At last it was time for Hsiang Xirui to climb the path to a Master face sculptor. He followed a path high above the smoke to the workshop door and stopped by a hut where the Master Sculptor was finishing another head.
Hsiang Xirui watched slim fine fingers rapidly roaming over the clay, patting it here and there, shaping it into a work of art. When the fingers stopped their work, the sculpted head looked as though it were about to speak. Hsiang Xirui gasped!
"Come in," called the Master.
Hsiang Xirui stood before the Master Artist, who hardly looked at him. Hsiang Xirui closely examined the artist’s slight build and stared hard at the sculptor's hair and face, covered as they were with ash and clay.
Then the Master’s fingers flew over Hsiang Xirui’s face, measuring the distance between the eyes, memorizing each feature. When the Master’s fingers fluttered from cheeks to lips, Hsiang Xirui allowed himself a small smile.
"What is this? You are to guard the Emperor." the Master barked. "No smiles! Serious work."
"Very," replied Hsiang Xirui.
The Master gasped. It was the voice she knew and loved. Her fingers returned to Hsiang Xirui’s face, with a much softer touch. Tears trickled down through the dust on her cheeks as she worked. Her fingers brushed his lips. He smiled again.
"My love," he whispered to her.
Li Hui Zhong continued to work so that no one would discover their secret. While she worked, Hsiang Xirui told her that he had always hoped to find her. "While I searched for you, I made a plan for our escape."
"Our parents are already in a safe place. We will meet them. After you finish the sculpture of my head and send it on, we will escape."
He explained more of the plan to her. "I will leave word that I had to leave early to go back to camp. But instead, I will take you away."
When she finished sculpting the terracotta head of Hsiang Xirui, in a small gesture of defiance to the Emperor, Li Hui Zhong parted the lips of the statue of the young Lieutenant into an ever so slight smile. Then she fired the head and sent it to the workers who put it together with the other parts to make another terracotta soldier for the Emperor’s great Army of the Afterlife
Because his family raised horses, Hsiang Xirui quickly became a cavalry rider of distinction. In his first battle, he saved the life of one of his officers. Again and again he proved his bravery. Despite his low birth status, he was made an officer.
The soft features of the strong, gentle, young man became the scarred, sharp outlines of a warrior. Yet, for all of his glory in the Emperor’s service, Hsiang Xirui’s heart remained that of the gentle farm boy who loved Li Hui Zhong. He thought constantly of how he might find and rescue her.
Some five years after their parting, Hsiang Xirui received orders to go to the village of the terracotta warriors. He was honored by this assignment, but even more glad because he hoped to see his beloved there.
As his legs were measured and molds made, he scanned the crowd for someone he knew from home who might be able to lead him to Li Hui Zhong. As the craftsmen poked and prodded and sent him from one workshop to another, he prayed to find her.
At last it was time for Hsiang Xirui to climb the path to a Master face sculptor. He followed a path high above the smoke to the workshop door and stopped by a hut where the Master Sculptor was finishing another head.
Hsiang Xirui watched slim fine fingers rapidly roaming over the clay, patting it here and there, shaping it into a work of art. When the fingers stopped their work, the sculpted head looked as though it were about to speak. Hsiang Xirui gasped!
"Come in," called the Master.
Hsiang Xirui stood before the Master Artist, who hardly looked at him. Hsiang Xirui closely examined the artist’s slight build and stared hard at the sculptor's hair and face, covered as they were with ash and clay.
Then the Master’s fingers flew over Hsiang Xirui’s face, measuring the distance between the eyes, memorizing each feature. When the Master’s fingers fluttered from cheeks to lips, Hsiang Xirui allowed himself a small smile.
"What is this? You are to guard the Emperor." the Master barked. "No smiles! Serious work."
"Very," replied Hsiang Xirui.
The Master gasped. It was the voice she knew and loved. Her fingers returned to Hsiang Xirui’s face, with a much softer touch. Tears trickled down through the dust on her cheeks as she worked. Her fingers brushed his lips. He smiled again.
"My love," he whispered to her.
Li Hui Zhong continued to work so that no one would discover their secret. While she worked, Hsiang Xirui told her that he had always hoped to find her. "While I searched for you, I made a plan for our escape."
"Our parents are already in a safe place. We will meet them. After you finish the sculpture of my head and send it on, we will escape."
He explained more of the plan to her. "I will leave word that I had to leave early to go back to camp. But instead, I will take you away."
When she finished sculpting the terracotta head of Hsiang Xirui, in a small gesture of defiance to the Emperor, Li Hui Zhong parted the lips of the statue of the young Lieutenant into an ever so slight smile. Then she fired the head and sent it to the workers who put it together with the other parts to make another terracotta soldier for the Emperor’s great Army of the Afterlife
Escape
That night, Li Hui Zhong lit her kiln and left the door of the kiln open. She set out a jar of oil and a basket of fireworks next to it. As they rode away, the flames traveled to the fireworks. In a few minutes the small hut exploded breaking all pottery inside and nearby. Fire poured out of the broken oil jar all around the hut.
Rushing to stop the spreading flames from reaching other huts, no one noticed that Hsiang Xirui was gone. The next morning they read his scroll and were glad to note that his sculpture was not damaged in the fire. The workers mourned the passing of Li Wu the Younger, one of the best artists any of them had ever known. The others noticed the slight smile on the face of the soldier but no one had time to redo the head— Hsiang Xirui was gone and who could equal the work of Li Wu the Younger?
The craftsmen from her home village mourned also for the real person, Li Hui Zhong, and for the cruel fate that had separated her from her beloved so long ago. But when the workers from her home village saw the finished statue of the smiling Lieutenant, they recognized Hsiang Xirui
Their sorrow turned to joy and they toasted each other with plum wine to celebrate that the two young people had found each other again. For when her former townspeople saw the smile on the face of the soldier, these old friends guessed what had happened. They knew the meaning of the Lieutenant’s smile—and now so do you.
Poet’s note: Simply a Smile won the Australian Kaixin writing contest. Tied for first place.
That night, Li Hui Zhong lit her kiln and left the door of the kiln open. She set out a jar of oil and a basket of fireworks next to it. As they rode away, the flames traveled to the fireworks. In a few minutes the small hut exploded breaking all pottery inside and nearby. Fire poured out of the broken oil jar all around the hut.
Rushing to stop the spreading flames from reaching other huts, no one noticed that Hsiang Xirui was gone. The next morning they read his scroll and were glad to note that his sculpture was not damaged in the fire. The workers mourned the passing of Li Wu the Younger, one of the best artists any of them had ever known. The others noticed the slight smile on the face of the soldier but no one had time to redo the head— Hsiang Xirui was gone and who could equal the work of Li Wu the Younger?
The craftsmen from her home village mourned also for the real person, Li Hui Zhong, and for the cruel fate that had separated her from her beloved so long ago. But when the workers from her home village saw the finished statue of the smiling Lieutenant, they recognized Hsiang Xirui
Their sorrow turned to joy and they toasted each other with plum wine to celebrate that the two young people had found each other again. For when her former townspeople saw the smile on the face of the soldier, these old friends guessed what had happened. They knew the meaning of the Lieutenant’s smile—and now so do you.
Poet’s note: Simply a Smile won the Australian Kaixin writing contest. Tied for first place.
