Friday, March 11, 2016

Week in Seven Words #281

A dragonfly, a branch and a monarch butterfly, suspended against the blue-white sky in a mosaic.

The dip has been sitting out for hours. The chips and crackers have been pawed into crumbs. The guests have had too much wine to notice.

She painted the sunflower drooping against a faded wall. The sunflower looks like it's losing color the way people lose blood.

She twirls in a dress made of soda cans and playing cards. Silver streamers run through her hair.

At the coffee shop, the outdoor seating is a bench encrusted in cigarette butts.

Walls of sloppy, spiraling graffiti become, just one block down, a series of murals: blue faces, owls, the moon's surface.

Depending on the light, the leaves on the tree look like paper sometimes, and other times like moths about to break into flight.