Literary Orphans

Mist Sketches by Arthur Griswold

from the files of her brain
drawn out from dreams and memories
so seemingly insignificant as shapes in the mist
moisture that gently was settling on the leaves and twigs around her

distant lights twinkling through emptying trees approaching the winter

another face emerges on the paper in her hand
absentminded, in another mental room, her fingers crumple page after page
unsatisfied with what the pencil is drawing
unhappy while she searches for the right features

the breeze eddying through the clearing snatches at the used and displaced pieces,
so many faces taken to flight

never the right one, she feels the scratching of lead on pulped wood,
hears the lines coming together

lets each face come and then go on their way

hoping, chasing, grasping for the proper wrinkles and whorls

her hands sense the eyes as they are appearing from her pencil, knows inside, feels the color violet speak to her

and she knows, she is closer than she needs to be today

drops of mist grow fatter and into raindrops, she clutches the tiny notebook to her chest

tomorrow, she thinks, and finishes carving her name on this day

pages sog, fluttering ceases, faces swirl and run, lost to her foreverness

O Typekey Divider

Griswold, wordsmith
Words float by, I grab them
Put on plate of Microsoft
Serve to you


O Typekey Divider

–Art by¬†DML