Every now and then I read something you guys write that just gives me the shivers. Today it was Jane’s post over at Making it write… This piece is so beautiful, lyrical, and tragic. Splendid writing, girlfriend!!!
This is all that is familiar; this prison and its skeletons, the barren garden, and the gate; the gate, its frame aggressively clinging to walls too high to climb, its peeled paint drawing the shape of a threatening grin, its rusty padlock keeping her in, and the knothole in the middle, like a single eye, watching her as she plots.
She makes scattered plans that she doesn’t believe in; she’ll scale the wall too high to climb, smash the locked gate, eradicate its seeing eye.
Her brain is distracted by the ticking of a long gone grandfather clock.
Yellow macs and matching hats and days when rain brought indoor games and laughter shaped her every day and noses pressed upon the panes. Breathing misty, steamy shapes, fingers doodling crude cartoons, dismissing hints of stormy gloom, while mother in another room cooked a meal and baked up treats, and weekends seemed…
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