Spaces. (Prose)

She flicks the grey lead
against the parchment
lifting her head, surveying the room
cardboard pushed under table leg
stops the glass from spilling wine

Tannin stained ceramic
holds back the curtain
hours passed since coffee time
breath blows across the sill
throws the cobwebbed blowfly

trees scarecrow standing
bare of leaves, broken nests
ashen sky still bleeds, she watches
sips on wine, this is left, her space
outside barren, as she, behind the glass



Copyright JMTacken 2014