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Will you always love me?
Will you always love me? With cliff edges at my fingertips, tigers at my heels, and thunder in my chest? When ghosts cling to my back while I flavor dinner with my weeping? When I come home hissing like a glass-breaker? When I’m sighing, sinking into sofa cushions, and I have no strength to pull…
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Prompt: Ephemeral
Life, ephemeral. Grief, perpetual. How deep her knees burrow into soil. A thumb of tallow, a gasping candle, swallowed by gusts of ramming winds. From the gravel, handless arms rise, and tremble. Endless sorrow, its cries guttural. Those left after death face pain, insurmountable. Art by FallanDark You can find this poem, and the rest…
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Mama’s Favorite Flavor is Grape
Mama’s favorite beans when cooking are black beans. Jade Seneca, the Chinese place a block up, and around the corner, she orders chicken and broccoli. When someone’s sick, we order chicken and rice soup. Sometimes she makes Lipton with a packet of Sazon and sofrito, a cube or two. Breakfast on the go is a…
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The Roads Our Hearts Know
We know all the avenues, and all the roads. I can walk to Mrytle, Wyckoff, or Knickerbocker with my eyes closed. And I do. More than you can imagine. The way to the post office, the supermarket, the cuchifrito. Street fairs, and flea markets. All across Brooklyn and Queens. Times Square, 34th Street, and Broadway.…
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Ice Chips
Ice chips. I gasp from a night’s fog. Ghosts came home with me from the 9th floor. Ice chips. None of the nurses said anything to me whenever I entered the employee only pantry with a styrofoam cup to get ice chips. Unstrapping the bi-pap mask feels like apologizing for plunging my mother’s head into…
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Imagine
There is no sound more deafening than the silence of your name never being spoken. There is no space heavier, more suffocating — full, and yet, so hollow, and empty, than your absence in this world. My nightmares awake are long. My sleeping dreams of you are brief. Nothing gives me less…
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I Die
I die over and over. I used to think I wanted to. I used to flirt with death using the same razors mama used to shave calluses from her hard working heels but now I know better when walking feels like dry heaving my broken insides when it feels like vomiting the pieces…
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#VSS365 May 2019
Once again, trigger warning for grief related stories below. May is not only the month of mother’s day, but it’s the month of my mother’s birthday. Needless to say, May hits me hard. This is the second time around since her passing. Grief is like walking on a tightrope. #ephemeral sways between balance & vertigo.…
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#VSS365 April 2019
Warning – the first few “very short stories” I wrote in April may be triggering. I’m still grieving the loss of my mama. I write in an effort to comfort the ever present void in my life due to her absence. I look at photos of her smiling. When the doctor told mama she only…
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#VSS365 March 2019
Every 20th, like clockwork, the roses on the dining table are a #celebration. A life once always blooming now a memory, the tops of her tender hands; they felt like rose petals. Her name, like the flower. Rosa. Mama. #vss365 #prompt #aboutMyMama 🌹 — Rachel's Writing (@rachelsfloetry) March 1, 2019 The bloodthirsty roars from the…
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Rachel's Floetry 