She once was sand, her body a swirling phantom. Her old haunt, the gaping maw of a ship.
Harvested on a Tuesday, melted on a Wednesday, molded on a Thursday. He made his perfect piece. Fragile, transparent—no hidden crevices.
He gripped too hard. Shattered, she took blood as reparation.
Helen Curran is a University of Cincinnati student with published poetry in East Fork: A Journal of the Arts. She thinks dogs are cute and sometimes she’s not lazy, actually sitting down to write (rare).
I loved this! Great description and awesome ending!
This is a stunning metaphor. Well done.
Beautiful story
Beautiful language. Nicely written. But I don’t understand what it’s about.
Loved the metaphor, and the awesome imagery!
This is really great. Love it.