Credit Photo: Favim.com
Wind swept through Essie’s hair
she sat silently, eyes shut tight
in sunday finery she was still visible
the voices could still be heard
she did not mean to break the cup, it fell
out of her hand, in slow motion she watched as
it spiralled towards the floor; splintering on the slate
she saw the shadowed footsteps
Essie turned her head, as the hand swung
her tears mixed in her apology, she heard
her father yell in anger, she wished she was
the wind as her mother struck the second blow
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One photo, two poems… a challenge amongst friends – without peeking!
words... from here to there 
very powerful writing……
Thank you, quite grim & thankfully only fiction. Thank you for popping over & reading. x
OMG! You guys are good! I want to go save the sweet thing from evil! Great poem. Hugs Paula xxxxx
I thank you – yes I think we all would xx
Poor kid.
Hello sweet – yes thankfully fiction on this page – on others not quite so… appreciate you reading.
Truly.
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