It's Still Life

The Price of It 

I'm writing this on a piece of paper 
that was once a tree, cut down and  
ground and pulped, and made into 
something else that trees don't know 
is a necessity of life. Like a loo roll. 

First grade: I'm writing on black slate 
with chalk. Circles round and round. 
Straight lines. Grasped hard, chalk 
white as knuckles. I broke more chalk 
than hearts, that's for certain. 

Don't waste paper, Mum said. 
She knew everything has its price. 

For Earthweal ekphrasis challenge. Image and poem ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter