It’s America
Baked in lies
This story is gold
Pawns in a new game
Of trick chess
The polls will drown us
But we’ll place ballots
For old sins
That never finds sleep
A new tale to tell
Unhinged truth
Glorified beauty
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?
I’ll never forget that morning
You called me in tears . . .
Painful sobs hit my ears
As I struggled to open my
Eyes and listen to your words.
You thought something
Happened to me–I was unsafe
Or hurt or about to do something
To myself I hadn’t run by
God first, and upon hearing
The pain in your voice, it shook
Me awake.
I could never leave this earth
In a way that would cause
You to worry about my actions.
You deserve full reports and
Regular updates.
We grew from teenagers running
Away from home to adults
Running to our homes and
Love looks good on us.
My beautiful friend, my sister . . .
Thank you for your service–for
The fearless enlisting that would
Swallow twenty years of your life
And have me stand back in awe
Of your choice to serve a nation
That still hates us.
I am proud of you.
You have been an inspiration
And a joy in my life that
Ages like fine wine.
I would war for you without
Hesitation–throw on the full
Armor of God if you were ever
In danger–blood doesn’t bind
Us, but love does.
Experience does.
Grief does.
Healing does.
And if the world doesn’t
Recognize your beauty in
My presence, it will be force-fed
Stories about your existence
To acknowledge it because
It’s the right thing to do.
You survived a system for
Over two decades that never
Had you as its highest priority,
And you lived to recount the details.
You are my hero and forever
Will be.
Happy Veterans Day, Karen!
And Happy Veterans Day to all veterans. Thank you for your service.
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?
The boy on the corner
Is a stalking kind . . .
His father preys on fleshy,
Widowed women, and eats
Their hopes and dreams
For breakfast.
The boy, the apple now
Mimicking the tree, decides
To rob the schoolgirls of
Their flesh.
His kills are fresh,
They won’t be missed.
He observed their
Actions–comings and goings,
Little lives lost to a
Haunted heart.
No one questions him
About the items he steals
From each girl–his newfound
Possessions, memorabilia to
Be pedestaled for centuries to
Come.
A sordid life,
His legacy.
Daylight Saving Time Ends: Fall Back. Do not forget to turn/set your clocks back one hour beautiful people!
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book Version Only)? The paperback version will be released soon. Stay tuned!
Gail Boenning is a writer/artist I became acquainted with on one of my used-to-be-favorite writing platforms, Medium. She is intentional with her word selection, fluid in her delivery, and a great artist, too.
I reviewed another book of hers in December of last year—POISE: Facing Cancer with Grace and Resilience, but did not share it here. You can read it via Amazon by clicking on the link. But here is a blurb about it just to heighten your curiosity:
Gail’s story in bite-sized vignettes was helpful and fulfilling. I felt as though I was walking right along with her throughout every phase, but not directly–indirectly. I was an outsider looking in, and I enjoyed my time spent there.
It was of no surprise to me that Flit Flutter Float (a playful guide) would be just as enjoyable. I was wOWed, sent to my #happyplace, and remained there the entire time.
The review:
“A Bit of Sunshine During These Gloomy Days
Gail never ceases to amaze me! I am happy to see her take her art to a whole new level. In Flit Flutter Float, she offers 33 fun, philosophical, and witty micropoems that remind us to be limitless.
For each poem, there is an animal with a suitable name, a quirky dilemma, and an airtight solution. The illustrations made me smile, and I connected with a number of the poems shared. I would venture to say the book is definitely for ages 13 and older.
Some of the references may go over the younger ones’ heads, but I am certain anyone can take delight in the art shared.
I could read this over and over again, and I have this feeling, I would never tire of it.”
If you need some light reading with a playful air about it, too, I highly recommend Flit Flutter Float.
The night sky winks
At the purple moon.
October is almost in
The rearview and November
Waits with bated breath.
The dog stretches in her bed.
She kicks her back leg out,
Wiggles her creaking body,
And turns over to another set
Of dreams.
The TV is background noise
While I give birth to
Two poems, microfiction,
And a lamentation that’s been
Trapped in my heart for a week.
Monday is around the corner,
Shaking its head at the job
Ahead of it–it loathes us just
As much as we do it.
Sunday kicks its feet up,
Positions itself comfortably
On my couch, and kisses the
Night goodbye.
Tomorrow, I’ll be drowning
In headaches of the pre-meditated
Kind–they’ve been
Waiting for me to clock in.
I know you do. I ask
Not for a response, but
Rhetorically.
I received news that has
Broken me–torn my heart
Into thousands of pieces, so
I’m coming to you.
I always come to you–in
Sickness, health, during times
Of Sadness, and of joy.
This time, though . . . this
Time is different.
A feeling of worthlessness
Washes over me. I have
Been abandoned, neglected,
Rejected, and looked over for
Second bests and thriving
Environments are rising over
These selections.
Am I not worthy of coupleship?
Am I not worthy of a legacy?
Oh, God, the dog sleeps and
The tortoise has buried itself
Under its bedding in its cave.
They do not hear my cries.
The dog is deaf and the tortoise
Could care less, so I come
To you.
Four months later, he tells
Me of a baby girl he hasn’t been
Able to share . . . hasn’t been
Able to whisper to me of her
Name. Who we were stopped him.
We didn’t want marriage. We
Didn’t want children, but we
Loved them.
He married. He now has a child,
And four months later, he speaks.
About her . . . about the beauty
Behind her eyes.
My phone floods with pictures
Of this sweet and precious soul,
And I see him in her, his mother,
And his father, and then he says,
“We need to talk, but I’ll have
To find time to do so freely,
I didn’t want to
Tell you like this.”
And I break down.
Not from sadness about the
News. Not because I am
Not “The One.” But because he
Felt like he couldn’t tell me.
But because he felt like our
History–our trauma from our
Upbringings would crush his
Words.
How do you tell the
One you didn’t marry, you didn’t
Have children with because you
Both were afraid that you now
Have crossed off the second
Thing y’all never wanted to do?
I put on his shoes.
I take a walk in them.
I try to understand.
I take long, deep breaths, and
Then, I cry.
God, we are where we are
Because of the decisions
WE made. We ran. We felt
Like we would mess up
Just as our parents did.
We didn’t want to fuck up
Children–break the cycle,
Shift the curse . . .
Fear will make you miss out
On life. And it did. With us.
Keep him safe. His wife, too.
And now, his baby girl.
Please, God. I know you will.
I know you can.
And the pain I feel now
Will not be with me next year.
I will be free. I will accept
What is and what will be.
I know that my life as it is
Now will not be what it is
In the future.
Whatever you do, God,
While you’re remembering my
Prayers for him and his family,
Please remember me.
A Cornered Gurl 
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