my entries for the Construct Cup |
I cast a penny into a well—etched with green from the scandent ivy that drapes it in lace— without the ivy, it wouldn’t be magic, wouldn’t be able to hold my hopes for the year— may I find what I need, a job, insurance, the red and purple cake of yarn that would make a perfect shawl, food I can eat without thinking about the sugar, love, time to write, to finish the novel that I feel flooding my fingers with words, time with my family, especially the ones who are so far away. but as the penny falls, and I shake my head at the Faustian bargain I make between me and the magic—I know that the only hopes granted me, will be those I work for, heart, soul, strength, for the rest of my year. line count: 34 Prompt ▼ |