“Rafters!” I had spent five minutes trying to think of the word. It’s happening more often now – loosing words. So far, I’ve found them, or a way to describe them. I watched my mother lose words. At first she searched for them, but later, the struggle was too much. She skipped them or used a substitute.
More and more the ghost of my mother replaces me – in mirrors, windows, my computer screen glow in the night kitchen, selfies. Sometimes, her mother-in-law stands beside her. My evil grandmother who is a part of me too. Their dead, hollow eyes pierce me. I bleed their blood. They never cry my tears.
Playing with my editing program – tonight it wrote on the pictures; often it’s in nano print! Just a trial. Hope to hone what I write, how I write, where I write. Lots to learn before nano print returns!
Another experiment with lots of bells and whistles. And a missing period or an odd capitalization.
Maybe best to write the prompts, not respond to them. That’s what I wrote this afternoon. I’m still fragile, and venturing out to read the words of others makes me feel like a cheap knock-off. Embarrassed at what I post.
I’m not looking for praise. Just to write viscerally, lushly, lyrically, humourously. Make words sing, paragraphs dance. To cause the reader to feel the prose, To write with passion and longing. To find the words when I need them – like sea wall, elevator, silverware, blue jay. And, oh yes, rafter.
@ tale weavering phylor, 2016