For those of you who have missed my previous contributions, this is my contribution to Lillie McFerrin‘s Five Sentence Friday. In this exercise, participants write five sentences based on a prompt. Today’s prompt is “Joy.”
At Grandfather’s funeral, she didn’t say a word. Then, as the air hummed down to the creak of pulleys that stopped and started the coffin’s fall, my grandmother flung out her arms and kissed the air, gasping in passionate phantom kisses as if to swallow the sky whole.
Today her hair falls in grey-white waves along the flops of skin that cling loosely to her cheekbones, the heavy frosting of blush. ”Oh, she was a beauty when she was your age,” says the stranger, pained joy dancing around his irises while his eyes lock on her stilled form.
None of us seem able to find the words that tuck them in, our minds cocooning against what has decayed, refusing to acknowledge the vast future in which they are missing—where, once they are gulped into the earth, there remains an endlessness of sky from which they are ever absent.