A clock always ticks, voices take over my mind, I cannot make them leave, and they rasp the air. Old words sit on lush velvet grouped near marble, elevate upturned smile. Old eyes still wrinkle. What does it mean these voices hidden in poetry?
I speak and these words repeat my words, I raise my wet fist, and they raise theirs in retreat.
I'm a native Appalachian from North Carolina transplanted to South Carolina. My garb consists of aprons with watermelon pockets, blue ink is the blood that flows through my veins, and I'm double jointed. In addition a love of reading, embroidery work and quilting, which evolves from her native roots, are some of my many passions. My wishes are you will sincerely enjoy reading my books.