//The slithered clay between finger gap-
felt like her mother’s clasp.
The coldness that smeared –
had her to a comfort zone ushered. //
// The mud that once slid away in flood-
with everything worth and found,
at her will was now being mouled
and she felt cajoled. //
//Her departed mother came alive
That’s what she believe,
Each time she create-
She felt revenged for the cremate.
I wrote this for Artson publishing house prompt. Pic courtesy Artson publishing house
Dandelion 