A bag full of toy cars with no wheels. Single shoes. A hard drive. Lamps, failing in their duty. Picture frames and broken spectacles. Mud nurturing green shoots and a gold ring. A ceramic sink. Library books, well leafed. A locket, cradling a curl of shining hair. A rotary phone. Endless photographs…..sketches and drawings…..outpourings. Discarded or lost. A will, handwritten and folded neatly into a disintegrating envelope. Keys.
Moments adrift from their timelines. Unburdened or bereft.
A pregnancy test, positive. Dentures.
Close to the earth, rotting, but above, jasmine on the wind.
About the Creator
ClaireJulia
Who am I to write a story? We are our own story, of wonder, of tragedy, of laughter, of contradictions and stupidity, of intelligence and synergy, love and anger, and death. Writing captures it all – and sometimes stories can sing.
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