Today the rain has washed away that woman’s face done in chalk on the pavement while I spoke to you that afternoon weeks ago. I can still see her like a ghost, hair pulled back in a loose bun at her neck with tendrils at her ears. I had plans for her, plans for retouching the wisps of hair curled round, kissing her cheek, plumping the bottom lip and shining the eye. But life is messy and it gets cleared when the universe sees fit to do it. And I am surprised by how little it took to clean the palette of its dust, leaving no trace on the surface of its existence. But the sun has burned it in to the palm of my hand, into my retina
and I can still see the curve of her forehead from here.
Aleathia Drehmer 2008
Published by Nibble (Issue 4)