Gratitude is my religion. Thanks for being here.
I can see her so clearly in my memory- My beautiful mama beaming back at me. Standing there at the kitchen stove, I can still smell the cinnamon,
By Annie B.about a month ago in Poets
The human memory can be a beguiling thing. Like when someone dies. Everyone magically forgets that Aunt Linda in the casket there was a raging alcoholic that verbally abused anyone who was unfortunate enough to brush up against her.
By Annie B.2 months ago in Fiction
What is this about, I say. I'm suiting up. The pad of your middle finger skis down the slope of my spine, disappearing into the valley of my sex.
By Annie B.5 months ago in Poets
Barely tolerable water flows freely from the faucet onto my rosy hands. Rivulets of pearly bubbles streak their way to my wrists as I scrub gravy from one of our ‘fancy' plates with a worn scotch-brite.
By Annie B.6 months ago in Fiction
First and Foremost, As your Earthly Host, Let Me say, Welcome, My Friend! There's much to see! If you will, Follow me!
By Annie B.7 months ago in Poets
I felt the first bullet that had ever been fired at me cut through air above my shoulder. It wasn’t the last. The second one didn’t miss. The side of my calf exploded in fire, and I went down.
By Annie B.10 months ago in Fiction
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. I looked up over my right shoulder to watch the simulated moon, the shape of a Crescent this night, rise to its appointed spot on the sky screen.
By Annie B.about a year ago in Fiction
Screens couldn't hold us. Outside from morning to night. Street lights called us home.
By Annie B.about a year ago in Poets
Even a trickle Will cut stone and river rage If time will allow.
The sun sets on me. As you lament in noon light, Your child greets the dawn.
If walls could talk- if I could talk....I would say..well, I guess it depends on the day. If you'd asked five years ago, I would have wanted to talk to Janice. Janice came to see me every day for 36 years, from that first day I was open to the public. She was in a bad way then. I learned very little about her in our early years. She rarely spoke. She just cried and cried. I wondered if a person could ever run out of tears. She never did.
I set the plate on the table in front of you. Your eyes never touch me. If only I could light up and glow for you the way screens do.