Friday, July 16, 2010

false starts

she woke with the sun, leaves plastered to her face by the sweat of her sleep.  she peeled them off her and combed twigs and detritus from her dark curly hair.  her hair was her favorite feature.  And it was her shining glory, most of the time, she wore it clean and long and redolent with the scent of lavender.  her hair was her protest song, it was her banner to march under, it was her rejection of the ideals of her upbringing.**@*@*#*@$()

got a small bag of rocks from the ocean.

No comments:

Post a Comment