Angie Kinghorn

Threads of a memory

The tulle was finely woven, fluid as silk stockings.  Intricate flowers of lace twined around the whole border, an alencon halo.  Alencon.  I whispered the word, tasting its strange French flavor.  My breath caught with the creamy threads as they snagged on the dry skin of my hand.
When I eased the comb into my hair, it tugged at my roots, whispering that the 32 years of marriage it represented were solid, substantial.  I slid in pins to anchor it, then it trailed me down the aisle. 


Something old.  Borrowed.  A thing of fragile beauty, crafted to endure.

** This is a memoir piece written for Write on Edge (formerly The Red Dress Club), an online community for writers.  It’s short, because we were given a limit of 100 words.  (Mine clocked in at 98.)  
The prompt: This week I want you to conjure something. An object, a person, a feeling, a color, a season- whatever you like.  But don’t tell me what it is, conjure it.

Comments

  1. Nice combination of the ethereal veil (it is a veil, yes?), and the solidity of the comb representing the strength of marriage. It created a beautiful image, complete with tension.

  3. Is this your mom's veil? I wore my mom's veil at my wedding :)

    I like this:
    My breath caught with the creamy threads as they snagged on the dry skin of my hand.

    and then the contrast with the solidity of their marriage. Lovely job.

  10. “My breath caught with the creamy threads as they snagged on the dry skin of my hand.” Love that line. I found myself putting one of my hands on my rib cage as I read it, trying to immitate your words. So good.