I've had a productive first day at Gilbert's of Mittagong. Here's a look at something I wrote today. Warning, this is a work in progress.
Your little fingers curl, biscuit crumbs speckle your mother's skirt. When I grow up I want to be a ballerina, you said. Playing with the delicate beads that adorn your mother's neck. Center of her gaze, pink jacketed, you smile. Capriole into the next scene. You no longer fit on your mother's knee; no longer care for the intricacy of her jewelery. You would rather shimmer into someone else's peripherals.
Hope to see some of you at the cafe next Friday.