She rubbed ointment across the darkening patch on her ankle, feeling the itch beneath the burn.
Some miniatures take months, sometimes years, to complete. One must ponder the weight and shape of what is missing, before the outline can be imagined.
She wrote of receiving in the mail pots of aloe, pots of African violets— propagated by friends from original plants once tended by her son before he passed away.
It is astonishing, how anger and hurt behave— leave in them too long the impress of your fingers and they will adorn every space in the room.
Honey on the tongue, bitterness in the heart. Soon the grammar of venomous bees in each ear.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.