A dreary diagnosis grayed the day, like the blending of black and white lumps of clay
So thoroughly that their masses could not be unentwined, no before or after, only
This big clump of the right now that she should have foreseen, but most certainly
Had not braced for. In cartoons and old films clenched fists are raised, railing
Angrily against an uncaring sky, but she didn’t have the energy to expend.
So she sat on a three-legged stool and began the numbingly futile task of
Separating dark from light, working the tacky slip between inflexible fingers, a
Salty tang of flour undiluted by her efforts, unchanged by the effort.
Praying for Eyebrowz 