Young Ladies to Women Series

Haunting Storms (November 2014) 

Storms like that hit only once or twice per year. When they came mommy barricaded the doors and windows.

The skies settled on a grumpy grey and the rumbling of the thunder grew with the hours. She switched her thick hips up and down the hallway unplugging everything. Then she went to her room and changed into her silk housecoat. After shutting off the lights, she gathered her candles and lit one for the hallway and one for the living room. She brushed against me periodically but never looked at me. When the house was secured to her liking and all you could see was the jagged flashes of lightning, she retired to her broken-down burgundy recliner, where she sat all night, lighting cigarette after cigarette. The scent of cigarette smoke overpowered the vanilla scented candles and stole my clean air.

She rocked back and forth in a trance, squinting every so often with her head cocked to the right side. I sat on the stairs as close to the candlelight as possible and peeked at her between the pillars. The rain pummeled the roof and the house shook. I stayed attentive, searching the darkest corners for ghost spirits.  Halfway through the night, Mommy began to play Mary J. Blige’s “Missing You.” I rustled around a bit, hoping to snap her out of her coma, but she lit another cigarette and rocked. The storm tossed trashcans across the street, smashing them into the neighbors’ cars. Deeper into the night, rain pellets shot against the metal doors. By then Mommy’s tears were streaming. The mystery man with the slanted smile stared at her from the broken picture frame. She reached into the coffee table’s cabinet and got her Christmas tin can, which once held Christmas cookies. She lit up to Mary J. Blige singing “I’m Going Down.” I watched her for hours. She exhaled in a smooth steady trail. Her head bobbed slightly as she closed her eyes, embracing the melody. I lay my head on the stair and watched her stare at the cracks stretched across the wall. My eyes were heavy.

She reached into the coffee table cabinet one last time and grabbed her pint of Hennessy. She hummed “I’m not gonna cry…cause your not worth my tears.” After her second shot, my eyes began to flicker and sleep took over.

Within what seemed like just a couple of hours, I miraculously awoke snuggled in my bed. Trudging through the house, I saw the sun beaming through the windows.  The barricades were gone and Mommy was in the kitchen flipping pancakes, her eyes bright and her smile shining as if last night’s storm never happened. 

Disney Girls  (December 2013)

Pin-up girls with tight curls, glistened lips, and French tips

Natural schemes awaiting wedding dreams

With her pilate hips, firm lift and supple tits

She never understands the impulse to stitch seams

His creased suit captured her like a Louis Vuitton noose

She hears him proclaiming, “I can open your eyes”

He preys on her as she searches for  “A whole new world.” Baby girl is confused

Clorox kissed then starched stiff to flour sifts, baking homemade twin apple pies.

Friends to Excedrin; kin to sour apple Martinis; Drowning

Tight knit housewives still, “Bright young women, sick of swimming, ready to stand.”

 Smooth lipo-ed legs are webbed with spider veins. Girl is exhausted from bowing

A Heroin shouting, “Look out boys I’m coming through” with no marching band

Disney girl, pleading for the moment, whispering, “When will my life begin”

While stirring pots and mopping baby trots. Hopeless and never to win.