by Gill James
pink cava
They liked her golden hair, the men who worked in the market. Their own
girls were dark with matching brown eyes.
Her eyes were blue like the sea and her hair was like the sun-blessed
corn of the north.
They would take a fist full of shellfish or slice
another strip of steak after her parents had settled the bill.
“Para ella,” they would say.
She understood neither what they said nor why they
gave her parents more.
About the author
See Gill's latest short story collection Other Ways of Being: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07VLSY7V5
