The baby teeth rattling in a bedside table, kept for love or superstition.
The puckered quilt that held the dream where Mom disappeared.
The tumble down those stairs, ending sharp with the taste of blood.
The wasps crawling on a cluster of fat Concord grapes, so ripe they drip.
The seal bark cough of my brother, two, ringing off the porcelain tub, shower running hot enough to scald, air thick with steam and prayer.
The fox with a lady’s scream in the woods behind the house, night after night.
The tall pine that swung with wind, which I imagined falling over us, and the nest of vultures in its crown.
The rabid bat in the master bath, battering itself against the mirror.
The piano, now dusty, and the song I never put to paper.
The cupboard under the stairs, which held the sour smell of particle board and my last journal laying fallow.
The neighbor’s puppy teething on my new dress, punching holes like a moth.
The crayon graffiti uncovered by a lifted couch, too late now to ground the culprit.
And the night the green trees froze and snapped like gunshots over the still marsh.
Things once lost are found, and placed in boxes to be lost again.
Some of it we’ll leave behind.
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Original narrative & well developed characters
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme