Invitations
Fortification bricks are placed, mortared with blood, over decades. A sprawling structure, it’s sectioned into rooms, floors, cellars, and turrets. Each space has its purpose. I travel freely throughout its memories. Those regarding it will never see all of its exterior. Few will be invited in.
One summer morning, while writing a poem to no one, I hear tinkling laughter waft in with warm breeze. Tossing chapbook and pen to table, I amble to a window. Chestnut waves dance with green velvet gown.
I invite her into my sanctuary. She brings me to life — until the day she ends me.
[10[1] words — dashes count as a word!]
Sandra, thank you for such a beautiful image to imagine to.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the host of
Friday Fictioneers.
Beautiful written Lisa 💜❤️
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Thank you <3
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Li a stunning write! Your prose flows beautifully 😄🌻
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Thank you, CA!
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Great story, Lisa 👍 I can imagine the fortification bricks that were painted with blood over decades, and those invitations…
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Yasan, thank you!
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You’re most welcome, Lisa! Have a great rest of the week. ☺️
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a price worth paying for a moment of life?
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