AI-generated image: Two Black women; one has an afro and is wearing black rimmed glasses, the other has locs and is donning massive gold hoop earrings. They both have pensive expressions on their faces as they hold on to each other in a sinkhole.
away from you
Con Funk Shun plays, and I finally hear what I need to in Michael Cooper’s sultry voice… “That’s the way it goes on Love’s Train,” and you begin to fade from memory.
As soon as you float into another part of my mind, The Gap Band plays, and then I hear, “Keep running,” and here I am… trying to talk myself from chasing after you.
I am slowing down, finding my own beat, and my own words to get far away from you.
death from cold
cold weather moves in without an invite–banging at the doors of the sky, willing to lap dance the day away, as long as it’s paid in full before the next business day.
its pimp hangs out around the corner, strangling the sun and threatening to take the heat from it.
we all layer up for safety. we don’t want to catch our death from cold.
I really do try to be out here rocking my own style. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Autumn’s wings
the chill in the air is what I live for; the wind that picks up moves in the right direction for me to glide on it gracefully.
I walk on Autumn’s wings, at peace with the calm that comes with it.
the love given to a bonsai tree
have you ever pondered the life of a bonsai tree? contained and pruned regularly to stay alive. the love it must take to have someone tend to what you need at the exact moment you need it is nothing short of humane. your livelihood is built around the caring heart of a human being who spares time to pour into you what they may not pour into others.
isn’t that remarkable? how many of us would thrive in a small container, shaped and structured to fit our home—safe, secure, and sturdy throughout many years ahead?
my money’s on not many.
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.
Honey Bunnies, I’m not one for the heat! I cannot stand it! I’d rather be relaxing in the air-conditioned spaces I frequent (i.e., my living room or bedroom), instead of taking Jernee Timid out for a walk when it’s Devil Weather!
This is NOT my calling. However, I do love my baby, and I’d do anything for her, but I’m going to need her to pick up the pace when it’s hotter than the corns on the Devil’s toes outside.
How are y’all surviving the heat this year?! Stay hydrated. Stay cool. Stay indoors as much as you can.
I am truly looking forward to the cool down headed our way!
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-BookandPaperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak aboutthe most recent events with my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
I am in love with weather that pulls you into a tight embrace and offers you time to appreciate death & dying for the renewal of strength and life.
It is shaping up to be the time of year when animals scrape at the barrels of nature to begin their pursuit of unlimited rest; the time of year when sun settles into the clouds a little longer and wind shimmies in, performing its best act.
Our walks will be longer. Our food will be hotter. Our clothes will be warmer.
And everything that makes up Autumn will sashay into the rooms of our hearts, making this state a bit more tolerable in the weeks to come.
I will drink in the goodness of a season that is always on time.
The dog and the tortoise are growing old and I am an ancient soul trapped in this aging body still yearning for the Fountain of Youth to offer its purity in life.
For now, I will take this shift in weather as a peace offering until healing comes at the heels of our feet. We’re all eager to walk this road of life temporarily unscathed.
I long for Autumn when it is not around, and in just a few weeks, that will be a truth I will love to embrace. Happy September! And Happy Labor Day, if you celebrate. May today be full of rest, relaxing, and enjoying good food, friends, and family.
Our first date was on a cold and blistery winter’s night.
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It was a cold, winter’s night in December of 2005. I had just moved to North Carolina in June. I settled into the new life surrounding me and laid my cares and burdens down to pick up another day.
I ran away from Georgia the first chance I got. I was always running away from something, someone, or somewhere back then. Ran from Georgia to the Bronx. From the Bronx to Long Island. From Long Island back to Georgia, and then . . . the final marathon saw me running from Georgia to North Carolina.
And this is where I have been since 2005. And although I’ve lived in two different cities, I haven’t found the gumption to speed away again. Not yet.
The first few months in my new home were magical. It seemed as though this life was designed for me. At that time, the woman in my body loved everything she had to offer and yearned for others to see it, too.
I met him online. Facebook, to be exact. It was wild how we connected, clicked, and cautiously approached each other for digital conversation and the goings-on of getting to know one another.
My best friend was my roommate at the time. She was great “company to keep”, but I wanted more. And he was the more I was seeking.
After a few weeks of shooting the shit, we decided to meet in person for our first date.
WordPress Free Images
Which brings me back to that cold, winter’s night. I do not remember the time we agreed on nor do I truly remember what we did. My bones tell me we planned to do movies and then dinner. So, let’s say we did exactly that.
When he arrived at my apartment building’s front entrance, I smiled at the sight of him. I walked outside to our stoop because he called to tell me he was turning the corner and would be at my place shortly.
He was a perfect gentleman. He ran up to me, scooped me up, and hugged me as tightly as he could. It was a full embrace –a Grandpa Hug. I melted in his arms.
To this day, whenever I see him, I say, “You give the best hugs.”
It was lip-biting cold and we were freezing our asses off, so we decided to get into the truck and escape the monotony of the night. He guided me to the passenger side, peeled back the door, and held it with one hand while he led me inside with the other. Once I was seated, he had to summon the strength of The Hulk to close the door with both hands.
This truck was old. Nah, it wasn’t just old . . . it was ancient. It made a loud, clanking sound while we rode up and down the hills of Winston-Salem. I panicked the entire ride. The heat worked. It sputtered and coughed and he had to tap the dashboard every few minutes to keep it from going cold.
I sat in my seat and prayed we would not get stranded anywhere in this still new-to-me city. He reassured me, “It gets me everywhere I need to go.” While I thought to myself, “Yeah, but how safe is this vehicle, really?!”
He was the best date I had since an old high school-to-college love of mine. He was respectful, a lover of music and writing, the eldest of four children, and was soaking in the newness of recently burying his father.
Something in me cried for him. We dated off and on for about nine years–breaking up and getting back together. Finally, I told him, “We are so good to each other but we are not good for each other.”
Because no matter what we did, our schedules failed us. His grief failed us. My intent on writing, connecting, and running to other people failed us.
He traded in that clunker of a truck for a Jeep Cherokee one year after it finally died on one of our major highways. He traded in the recklessness of who I was for a lovely sweetheart of a woman who knows how to stay put.
We had an amazing life together. We just weren’t amazing together. You sit with that for a while. It’ll come to you.
Every time I think about my first winter in North Carolina, I think about him and that old clunker of a truck, and the strength it took for him to close the door to his broken down and beat-up vehicle, and the heart it took for him to finally walk away from me.
And honestly, I smile. Because really, everything was perfect but the truck.
A Cornered Gurl 
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