Plenty of eggshells in a sky made of idling seagulls; balled-up like grief, they ricochet from car to house, and spread out. The woman in the car on the parking lot takes off the glasses lately spilled like socks from a drawer. She imagines her lot: there is only grief.
Like balled-up socks spilled from a drawer, the flock spreads out as if the parking lot was sky. The woman in the only car idling there takes off her glasses to imagine the seagulls as eggshells. She had been walking on plenty of those lately, her house ricocheting with grief.
Plenty of eggshells in a sky made of idling seagulls; balled-up like grief, they ricochet from car to house, and spread out. The woman in the car on the parking lot takes off the glasses lately spilled like socks from a drawer. She imagines her lot: there is only grief.
Sue Clayton
30/9/2023 06:16:50 am
The mournful cries of the seagulls can mingle with her own cries of grief. 30/9/2023 11:14:08 pm
Yes, Or mine, trying to get the second paragraph to make sense while only using the words in the first. Thanks for reading, Sue. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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