Red Nails

As promised, creative inspirations will ensue here. I am nervous to put this on the blog, not because I am afraid of people and their criticism...cause I know what I can do and can't do, but I am freaked out someone will find my stuff, and pass it off as their own, which would break my heart. Although, I think to myself it will be a really small world that reads my blog and anything I put on here will be rough draft, no where near the final product so here I go with gustooooooo....



"Always, her painted red fingernails haunt me. They haunt me because I haven’t buried her like she buried me. The point of origin is my memory of her digging in the earth; using these glossy red nails, fake nails, to get in and under the moist dirt. She was compulsive about burying anything she had to explain. I remember a picture, a photograph, it must have been a birthday, because someone captured her image bowed over a blue balloon, and there in the centre were the red fingernails. There isn’t a single photograph or childhood memory without those fingernails always pointing, grasping, clawing raking over every truth and covering every child she had. Now as I am older, unearthed I find myself standing in the beauty section of drugstores, in front of the display for fake nails. Her brand is there. I finger the boxes, wondering if after 45 minutes of inspecting labels I will purchase her nails for myself."