Skip to main content

Hearts And Sleeves



A practical turn to my wedding outfit: I must find a cover up for the bruise on my arm.

Off shopping then. Quickly. Time is of the essence, as they say. 

On the slip road to the A30 a hearse is pulled up, hazard lights flashing. The coffin is draped in a cloth, bright clear red, under a circled wreath.


How this contusion arrived, I don't recall, no matter how I frown. I drive: give up. There is a bruise: that is all that can be dredged.


A white crop cardigan suffices, matches the white flip-flops, the pearly Alice band, the damaged beaded bag that I bargained for.


It's a good bruise. Puzzles me, how I missed the cause of it.

It's the shape of a heart.
So, here I am, pulling odd faces in concentration, trying to take a picture of my heart-bruise. Either mystery or symbology makes it a perfect subject. 



Comments

Suze said…
Bit speechless. That's quite a contusion.
30 May 2013 at 02:19
Susan Flett Swiderski said…
Dontcha just hate those bruises of unknown origins? On the bright side, at least yours has an interesting shape.
30 May 2013 at 05:41
Stephanie said…
Heart-Shaped Bruise: Sounds like a Nirvana song! I get bruises-of-unknown origin all the time. It does make one wonder. Are we that clumsy, or that impervious to pain?

Hope it heals quickly, and enjoy that wedding!
30 May 2013 at 21:13
Lisa Southard said…
Still puzzling over how it got there- bruises are expected in my line of work, and I do fall off tree branches in the woods... but this is a deep sore bruise and I'm surprised I didn't note the origin of it. I think it tells me how distracted I am!
31 May 2013 at 00:16
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Contact Pants Conundrum

There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words...
2 comments
Read more

Back From The Future Blog Party

Another joint blog adventure- if you want to see who else said what the list of participants is here . The premise is this: 'You're up before dawn on a Saturday when the doorbell rings. You haven't brewed your coffee so you wonder if you imagined the sound. Plonking the half-filled carafe in the sink, you go to the front door and cautiously swing it open. No one there. As you cast your eyes to the ground, you see a parcel addressed to you ... from you. You scoop it up and haul it inside, sensing something legitimate despite the extreme oddness of the situation. Carefully, you pry it open. Inside is a shoebox -- sent from ten years in the future -- and it's filled with items you have sent yourself. What's in it?' Here's how I imagined it: Before dawn? Shadows outside, first forming. Sleep has gone, I don't know where. Coffee I can find. All the way from Machu Pichu, this fair-traded pack. Scissors are in the drawer, which ...
26 comments
Read more

A Glitch Or Two

My Chromebook has been crumbling. It seems a little like dementia, this inability to upgrade its powers of communication, it makes me sad, even for an object. It's one of the reasons my posts here have been put aside, that and generally being tumbled by tiredness. I have saved up money for a replacement, also I have spent that money on trees and shrubs. I have two novels to sort out however, and this will be the reason I save up again. I don't stop writing, even if I don't tell anyone. In the meantime should you need a calm place to go, I have begun a substack account. Please do drop by. If the kettle crumbles we can make tea (or soup) on the firepit. Me on substack:  Lisa Southard
Post a Comment
Read more