i split my wrists
with cotton candy.
opened with a
started with a
i killed myself
As we lay spent, naked, and intermingled, he confessed.
“For years, I never had a girl friend. And, I had housemates. And, on Friday and Saturday nights, the walls would almost cave in with all their fucking. And, I would be sitting in my room alone. It’s nice to have somebody to love. Especially, someone like –” he garbles his last word as he lightly sucks my hip.
It sounded like he said “Cain,” but I know he said “you.”
good and bad
and full of
with aunts & ants.
your hair is feathered
you’re no angel.
“What specifically is a moth ball, and should one be surrounded by so many of them in such a small space?” she ponders.
“Meemaw! Are moth balls related to asbestos?”
“Oh, no,” she groans.
As her skin begins to crawl and her lungs begin to implode, she finds an unmistakable Tiffany & Co. creme blue box.
Instantly forgetting her brush with death, she opens the ring size package.
She gasps and runs to show her grandmother the unexpected treasure.
Meemaw opens the box, pales, drops it to the counter, and quickly leaves the room without looking at or speaking to her.
Her granddaughter follows her to the hall, where she finds Meemaw weeping soundlessly against the wall nearest the kitchen.
“Caroline, call your-”
She gasps and falls.
She never sees her awake again.
In 1942, under the watch of ole red, white, and blue,
a boy met a girl.
He told her he was leaving and would marry her when he returned.
She was home to him.
In the back of the movie theater with “Bambi” on the screen,
she nods off, to “Love is a Song,” yes.
She is not quite seventeen.
He leaves her with a ring and all of his best intentions.
He fights bravely in a
Battle between winter and the beautiful.
She writes him every day.
He comes home to her.
And, as the chords of the wedding march begin,
and she moves toward him,
He remembers love.
4 inches flacid
be good to her