Home (writing exercise)

[radiantfracture]

This is from the writing workshop on Sunday -- the prompt was "home" and, interestingly, no one seemed to find it a solid or stable concept.

This is less hmm, sentimental, maybe, in the larger context I imagined for it.

* * * * * *

Does he have a home? He has a memory. He sees a river with clay banks -- a stream, really, narrow, deep, and fast. Trees like a loose skein of birds that have landed among the high grass and the heaped sweet-smelling moss. Water all hands, turning the gray stones underneath the stream.

This is not home. The clay in the bank can be dug out or cut out. It's good clay, but you are not supposed to take it away. It's clay you could make something from. A vessel, a whistle, a brick, a hearth.

Why does he think of this place when he thinks of home? Around here somewhere is a grave. Not a grave for a person or an animal, but for a piece of a person. Around here is a grave for a heart. In this slippery bank or under this heaving water. Under one of these trees? No, it was closer to the water. Even at the time, when he told himself "I'll know this spot by the crooked oak, its hooked branch, the bump in the earth, these rocks," he knew he would never be able to find it again.



{rf}

Comments

[sabotabby]

This is gorgeous!

[radiantfracture]

Cheers!