i think people can change, if they want to. from beth to maggie
summers sets in fields of gold, humidity fluttering between tended greens. it's about as tall as beth was a few years ago, blonde curls brushing across at the top of her chest before she even realized how much @amalgi grown. ā you sound just like daddy. ā her drawl sours, the mention making features twist. the annoyance bubbles over like a opening a hot beer in the fields. the tension in her brow is taut, but she still softens like their once growing curls. maggie moves with purpose, stretching out on the blanket theyāve laid out. itās to avoid face, doesnāt want beth to see how honey stringed words from her sister works on her. she thinks perhaps itās the way summer sets like before, as if her mom sat pretty on the porch with a bible in her lap. as if the summer just began and theyād sometimes sleep in the barn loft over night. shawn would scare them both then sleep in the hay. the memory sits bitter in her throat, finger clenching on nothing as if to keep it in her mind a little longer.
ā you really think people can change? ā even after all this? maggie turns over, green searching for that shade of blue that'd been the same since she'd been born. ā don't think it matters how hard they try, world won't let 'em. ā seems to be a kind darkness their daddy use to pray about, the end of times in verses from old print. with the way that it rots around them it's nothing but fleeting memories of fields and sunday praises. maggie plucks the green that braided itself in her sisters curls, she lets it drift off along with the breeze before saying. ā you're different too, ya' know. ā
