Is it possible to hold irony in my hands? To trace my fingers over the delicate pattern of life circling back upon itself? The retribution of greed now balanced upon my palm.
Somehow, I think I knew it would all come to this. That it would fall to me to pack the last traces of you. The mink, stolen with your mother's scent still fresh in the luxurious warmth. The long list of trinkets and valuables--all fodder for your bloated belly full of entitlement.
And now the dishes. The dishes. The dishes your mother swore you were taking piece-by-piece right out from under her. The dishes that lay hidden in your closet until her death. The dishes that should have been carefully packed and laid aside for your selfish son and his grasping wife. The dishes which I left, instead, a shattered heap on the floor.
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wow, this was captivating and leaves me wanting more. Perfectly written!
ReplyDeleteI love it, Lisa. I love the conciseness...it really gets me when so much is conveyed with a minimum of words. "That it would fall to me to pack the last traces of you" is my favorite line...resentment and grief packed into fourteen words.
ReplyDeleteI love the cathartic breaking of the dishes.
ReplyDeleteThis is so good, Lisa - really REALLY good! Nice work - glad to see you writing here!
ReplyDeletewow. tight magpie...love the breaking/keeping there at the end...
ReplyDeleteamazing writing,
ReplyDeleteyou take care.
Marvelous - love it!
ReplyDeleteSplendid story! Love your style of writing.
ReplyDeleteGood maggie!
Joanny
Ah revenge..what more is there to say?? Well written...
ReplyDeleteThanks for such encouragement, guys! I am looking forward to the next Magpie and to getting better acquainted with all of your writing as well. :)
ReplyDelete