The black ebony slid across the blank white sheet

Marking, slowly, gentle pressure

An idea in mind

Supposedly able to do anything.

Holding the long wooden stick softly

Slowly, it scratched across the paper


It’s supposed to be pretty, supposed to be right.

Correctly molded it can be anything.

As an eager child it sketches, tries.

Its wrong, it doesn’t look right.

Eraser jabbed hard into the paper.

Erasing the mistakes.

Leaving a trail of screwed up picture that used to be something…

Used to be something that wasn’t right.

Starting over.

Grip tightened,

The hard piece clenched between cold fingers

Dirty eraser shavings all over, blank sheet scuffed.

It was so blank, so pure, white.

Now it’s covered with bad ideas

And screw-ups

That never went anywhere, never did anything right.

It’s smudged.


Now it’s impure, unfit,

Can’t start over.

It’s erased.

And now there is nothing

But a dirty piece of paper, and a pencil.

©Kaysha Riggs 2010

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