it was plain to see, flying like a plane off her wooden stilts there would be blood there was no pain as the broken window pane sliced down beside her left eye so much blood discombobulated her mother tears took center stage, not the white t-shirt now stained dark red the hysteria in the background so oscar worthy a little girl watching the performance not knowing yet there were deeper wounds created years passed before mom and her chronic attention-whoring got that so richly deserved smack-down the girl, now a woman, didn’t clap, fawn or adore anymore she just walked away
My sister and I grew up on all things camp – TV, film and even some music. We watched the funniest shows like Gilligan’s Island and Batman. It was hilarious getting animated, emulating an exaggerated karate chop through an imaginary smoketrail or holding Vick’s up to our eyes, so the vapor made us cry fake tears.
I am yearning for carefree, childhood trips with the family, watching monarch butterflies flitter around on the mountain hills. The current plot twist in our lives makes me ache for pure, unadulterated silly joy. Thanks, Covid-19.
memories are a bitch
mourned long ago
my friend, you are missed
I was in my early 20s when I lost my good friend, Jerry Angeline, in a vehicle accident. His death impacted me deeply. This was our song and what triggered a flood of memories recently. It still hurts.