SandScript 2021

HOPE
Courtney Armstrong
Damp, cherry-blonde curls clung to her forehead
while her unquestioning freckled fingers plucked the puzzle
pieces
her busy thoughts pacified by the sound of the sleepy raw
wood
that plinked and tinked upon return to their splintered slots
the smell of mold and pinecones repulsive and delightful
dead and yet, somehow alive
she loved the weight of the timbered pieces
the way the acrylic oozed into motley outlines
of green brawny zeal and robust brawn —
the cowboy, the fireman, the doctor and the astronaut —
rosy destinies painted pointedly on the blocks
that promised eternal rainbows of freedom
the women on the puzzle —
the nurse, the ballerina, the mother —
were allowed only simple short hyphens of coal
dashes of smiles that disguised
muzzled mouths and straitjacketed souls
harnessed angels in weathered, tawny leather of doubt
she scooped up the ballerina by the buttery, yellow knob
crudely jammed into its pink satin abdomen
she willed away its corseted pain
and chucked it across the room
and at the same time released herself
because all such beautiful things deserve to be free
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