She spells it slowly, smiling, as if she’s landed on a triple-word score.

But the letters spit out like broken teeth after a tough fight.

“We are, aren’t we?” she asks in the same tone she uses for

“I was a good MOTHER, wasn’t I?” and “You do LOVE me, don’t you?”

There is nothing playful in these questions, and no way to advance from her pointed puzzling of letters.

We move one space forward and two spaces back, never passing Go,

never finding meaning in the words.

But this is the ongoing game of myF…..A…..M…..I…..L…..Y

always spinning, never landing on a square that takes you home.

Words: ©2015, Jen Payne
Image: Clandestine Game XI, Omar Rayo

2 thoughts on “Scrabbling

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