lucky #2

lucky #2; the second in a series of drawings that don’t have to mean anything; what they should do is act as a writing prompt, especially for certain meandering poets.


One thought on “lucky #2

  1. She came out of her room wearing her mother’s necklace. The one whose locket was a big black eye bumping against her breastbone.

    Her father saw her even in all his rushing around, his goggles about to be lowered over his glaring eyes.

    He gestured with his sandpaper chin towards her room: Go take it off.

    She shook her head, hanks of hair popping out from behind her ears.

    He pursed his florid pink lips, shuffled his booted feet on the flagstones at the door: Be careful with it.

    She scowled magnificently.

    (Her sister hopping in the living room. Her sister, her eyelids smudged like a newspaper, even freshly awoken.)

    He left, his motorcycle having coughing fit in the drive. Goggles lowered.

    She spent part of the day staring at the picture of her mother as a girl. The one in the silver frame on the little table next to her father’s chair.

    Her mother wore a knotted handkerchief. The knot rested on her breastbone. Mother, daughter, mustache, locket.

    Her mother looked blank.

    (Her sister hopped. Her hair needed brushing.)

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