It's Still Life

At the Intersection of Odd Numbers

Bon Appétit — The Pepperbright Canticle

The bell above the door startles itself into a shriek of fingernails on a chalkboard as a woman, trailed by a rosy-nosed child in a cat-eared hat, ignores the door slamming shut behind her and asks, “What do you have for a dinner party?”

“For the table or to eat?” says Brigid, matching the woman’s tone and sipping her tea, which has dropped to the temperature of a snowstorm; “Both,” the woman replies, flat as someone signing a contract without a pen.

“Excellent,” Brigid nods, “nasturtiums, borage, pansies with pretty faces, marigolds…”
            “…pee-yoo,” interrupts the woman, curling a lip, “they smell like an old woman’s medicine cabinet got rained on,” and Brigid smooths the air with a grin: “That’s the scent of damp, fertile earth and wet copper coins, love.”

The floral centrepiece begins to build itself in words and gestures, in width, height, colour, fire — and Brigid adds, “Salad dressing’s not included; seventy-five percent deposit, and when do you want it delivered?”

The child sniffs a small brass bowl of dried herbs, sneezes, and blows debris across the table before asking, “What’s this stuff?”

“Damiana,” winks Brigid, “doesn’t do much, just makes you more likely to tell the truth — and ask for dessert.”

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Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word “pen”.  Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.