The Dancer

See her? The gypsy?
Braid the color of broom straw?
Yes, her. A bundle of bones hung inside that velvet dress. Long ago it was probably blue or black. Maybe silver.
A giggle. Long ago.
The scent of mildew follows her everywhere.
Unpleasant at best.
Very.

Andrea hears the women. Isn’t affected. She sways beneath her ancient blue smock, recalling the days she danced by firelight, wearing gossamer gowns, while the women’s fathers clapped. Whistled. Became red-faced from whiskey.
Remembering the nights the men came to her lilac-scented tent, she winks a blue eye and wishes the women well.

Stolen Discovery

Photo by Dale Rogerson

“Blimey, I’d say our Mary is a wee touched. Always rootin around in the sand. Not lady-like at all.”
“Claims she’s lookin for dino bones. Imagine! Dinos. Here in England!”
“Been told her father polishes the good ones. Sells them to tourists. Who’d want old bones hangin on their wall?”

Mary ignores the women’s chit-chat, for she’s on her way to collect Henry Alby, and show him what she’s found. He studies the fossil, laughs, “Nothing exciting, deary. Better luck next go ’round.”

Two months later Mary sees a notice:
Professor Alby Discovers Complete Ichthyosaur Skeleton!Receives £120.