Mother is dead

This was it. A metal leaf bent up at the sides like a rolled tongue. Or rather, a canoe. Handforged from iron. And here the pitted striker, gone at with tiny axes it looked like.

You are soft and have a crisp feel you have the lustrous feeling of silk you resist shrinkage moths and mildew but your ability to absorb moisture is poor which makes you a rotten hankie.

I didn't like your cheap suits. Your highlights. Your roots. I didn't like your voice or your name. That accent grated. I didn't like your attitude.

What is your relation with me? Not anything! If you ever see me passing by Will you call me? Maybe not! If we don’t meet up ever again, will I keep you in mind? No…

SURRENDER AT SEIZURE

SURRENDER AT SEIZURE

Entry for Vanessa Gebbie competition based on Alison Dunne (ivoryfishbone)'s poem.