It's Still Life

It’s lazy-hot for mid-May. A few days before she finishes 6th grade, and she can hear her mother talking, voices slipping in and out of her open bedroom window, “somethingsomethingsometimes she makes my flesh crawl,” so she knows what she’s telling the neighbour. She swings her feet off the bed, she’s wearing white cotton socks that leave imprints on her ankles, and she pads soft as froth across the floor, and stands by the window to listen, but a breeze moves their voices away in thin slivers, through the Chinese dogwood tree by the window with its white four-petal blossoms that hold the faintest of green as if pleading to be leaves rather than short-lived flowers, and the windowsill is white, and the ceiling is white, the bedsheets are white, her underwear is white, she lives in a white house, and her skin seems too fragile in white. Everything that day was too-too white. That lazy-hot day when the sun was the sun and heat was heat, and she wanted to rub off the indelible script written by the Fates.

Young naive wisdom
Making more and more waves
In lazy fields of grass

A Haibun for Miz Quickly’s Day 22: Too-Too Much. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2024.