Grace picked up a pen back in 2010 and wrote 50,000 words, longhand, for NaNoWriMo and became a winner that year. Thus the addiction began, clinging like the scent of stale cigarettes to her skin. Now she’s just another writer wearing down lead and running out of ink, one line at a time. Coffee refuels her when sleep has not been kind. You can read more of her writing on her blog Black Ink Pink Desk.
She works best with many irons in the fire. It only made sense to host her own version of a flash contest. Poetry speaks to her soul, but she’s drawn to the brief. Therefore, why not three lines on a Thursday? Three Line Thursday Come lay down ink!
Her poetry has been featured/published:
Three Line Poetry (Issue 29)
Haiku Journal (Issues 25,26,28,31)
Her flash is published here:
I watch birds now, their various wingspans, as I sip my coffee. Overpriced coffee from oversized mugs, brewed in coffeemakers costing more than my monthly wages when I was still a productive member of society.
That sounds ungrateful though, which I’m not or at least I shouldn’t be. My granddaughter has kindly taken me into her home. A home I never could have provided for Vera, but then times were different.
Her petite, gloved-white hands flapping around as she’d prattle on about some sale at the nursery. “Lilacs,” she’d said. She fancied gardening, and hated horses, but her hands remained petal soft even in the end as I held them between my own calloused monsters.
Milk-glass cups—we used to drink our coffee from—are kept on the top shelf of the hutch I built, collectibles now. We don’t drink out of them.
“Lilacs are in bloom.”
“Ah, yes! How are the birds today, Grandpa?”
“They don’t change.”