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3:15 pm, the white ticket read 3:15 pm. Heart thumping in her ribcage, Bonita turned the ticket, her very own ticket, in her hand. She couldn’t believe her good fortune. “Tee shirts, tee shirts, get your World’s Most Beautiful Painting tee shirt here,” the shirt hawker shouted and waved a garish tee in Bonita’s face.
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Cigar smoke and wet wool, the court room air was heavier than lead. Ingmar rubbed his moist palms on his best suit. That’s when he noticed the chalk on his suit jacket sleeve. Brushing hastily, Ingmar looked around to see if anyone noticed. Mary had worked so hard to black his shoes, iron his suit,
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OneRed dropOf fine watercolorBlossoming summer juicy ripeOn the virgin cottony groundBurying myself deep as a seedFrom the world with a bleeding brush
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Miles of roots seekingDeep in the damp dark earthMy ability to thriveRenders me invisiblePass me by with an absent smileSee me without seeing me If I were fragileyou would know I could breakStorm ravaged, wind strippedBruised branches, bleeding sapWeeping weariness to the leaf littered layer below If I were beautifulSomeone would stopAdmire how the breeze
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Nurse brings in African violetspurple tinged with white A gift she says to all the patientsIn the maternity ward How nice I sayI’m recovering from my hysterectomyFeeling better than I thought I wouldFeeling lighter Unburdened fromSudden blood and constant painI’d waited so long to let go of this truculent uterus, my red hot poker ovaries
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Splash into the cool electric blue of Aqua Bergamotsoon plunging into the manly Old SpiceApollo, Phoenix, and Dark Temptation Axe SprayBehold this curl on my chinwho needs to washwhen I smell like a man Paint me Blu Atlas, Ralph Lauren Polo Redcamouflage for middle school corridor treksMom don’t you understandNautica body spray is my north
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It started with a spark. Not emotional, but a static charge leaping to the fridge as XR8 rolled over the kitchen rug carrying groceries. From the refrigerator panel, GiGi, the home management AI, giggled. “Sorry,” XR8 said with 63% certainty. “No worries, doll face. Is that an ice cream cone in that bag or are
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Giving Butter By DjinniRB the winter of madeleines Lemon sweet and pound cake light I was giving up on giving up butter That joke was naturally followed by a season of stomach crunches My abs appreciated nothing summers of running followed close behind fueled by Cap’n Crunch, undiagnosed hypoglycemia Tissues starved for fuel Capillaries bursting
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circular staircase 