It's smooth to the touch and brings life to the page
Drawings and words leap from line to line, picture to picture.
I can see the memories of my Nanna more brilliant than before.
It's as light as a feather, artistic as a paint brush.
It belonged to my Nanna.
When I use it I feel her soft hands against mine.
The memories jump all over the page in swirls of colours.
The stories I write spin like spider web silk.
The tip is sharp to touch
But makes me warm inside like a brownie.
When I hold it I feel a sense of comfort
I remember her smile as I write on the page like an ice-skater. So beautiful and elegant.
The smile she smiled when I wrote her a story
A story for her I wrote with a felt tip pen.