I’m so tired of loose lips sinking ships—of human cannons shooting us with lies, and creating a mass of loblollies with the full intent to bury us alive.
we’re more than flesh & bone, we’re heart & mind, and they must’ve forgotten we can fight when a corner is the place they push us in.
a faulty administration is running a nation, betting with money from people who’ve poured their last into a country they once loved.
they have no clue of what they’re doing, yet they do, and we’re the ones dying a long death. but, we’re the ones fighting to stay alive, too.
the first home
a short workweek ahead for me—taking pto for a trip back to a place that hasn’t been home in 21 years, but it’s still home.
I’ve been eyeballing the weather, got my hawk’s view on 10, monitoring changes to be sure travel plans won’t meet their demise. I need to get away.
my mother will be in tow—my nerves will work overtime to keep her anxieties at bay. I’m craving fresh seafood, familial hugs, and time spent with people close to my heart.
a quick mini vacation to recharge my energy—strengthen my bones. prayerfully, none of them will break from the weight of the pain that the first home can bring.
Homemade salad: diced chicken tenders, cucumbers, onions, tomatoes, blueberries, spinach, & Colby Jack cheese. I drizzled the ranch dressing onto the salad after I took the photo. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
better at home
fresh fruits and veggies diced chicken tenders with cheese creamy ranch dressing
AI-Generated Image: A Black man dressed handsomely in a jean jacket, cream-colored shirt, and jeans, standing on a porch in front of a door. He has a pensive look on his face.
we all feel, and he didn’t
he was too equanimous. you maybe thinking, “that’s not a good thing?” and I’m obligated to tell you that I needed someone who would explode with anger if the world caved in on him… eventually.
I needed to know that he could cry, would cry if his heart were crushed with grief. but he didn’t know tears—he hadn’t been open enough to let them cleanse him, and I couldn’t continue to love a man who wouldn’t emote.
I understand strength, the rearing of holding back emotion when you can release it was always weakness to me. I wanted to know that if I broke down, he could break down with me, and we’d lift each other up.
but in a world that tells a man to be stone in order to be loved, he couldn’t hear my cries.
David, at The Skeptic’s Kaddish, and I have collaborated once more using the Rengay form of poetry. It is always a pleasure working with a talented writer such as him, and I was happy to take part in this ongoing series once again. A snippet of the poem is below.
db-
razor at my neck each scrape both threat and comfort— smooth with tiny bumps
tll-
risky weather won’t stop me money doesn’t grow on trees
db-
bank notification— I pretend not to see it until tomorrow
tll-
worry doesn’t rest I’m in a headlock adulting is trash
You can read the poem in its entirety by clicking on the link below. Thank you again, David! It’s always a blast!
I snapped this photo of Zumi Tye while it chomped down on its dinner for the evening. What’s in Zuse’s dinner tray? Blueberries & turnip greens. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
long day of nothing bathing in humidity waiting for Mommy
We called him Tortoise because he taught us. —Lewis Carroll
Scattered Words: Poems for Jernee Timid Loadholt is available now! Have you gotten your copy? Hardcover|eBook
Back when I didn’t overthink things, I loved a woman who lied so much, mythomania could have been her middle name.
We were never going to make it. I made up stories for entertainment; she made up stories to cover her ass.
Eventually, one of us was going to break, and one of us did.
Baby Tre in a fighter pose. I have no clue who took this photo, perhaps one of the hospital nurses or a family member? April 17, 1980.
What Was I Thinking?
I must’ve known the world would be a battlefield.
At a few hours old, I’d already prepared myself to fight; hands squared into position of protection.
What was I thinking as I dreamed alongside a mother who pushed me into being?
Could I have been dreaming of ways to right wrongs without a working definition of them?
Did I know about all of the nastiness dripping from the hearts of men, and how that coldness would shift God’s creations—morph them into living devils?
Many ages passed me by, and now, I find myself standing atiptoe, waiting for change that doesn’t look like it’s going to come.
Scattered Words: Poems for Jernee Timid Loadholt is available now! Have you gotten your copy? Hardcover|eBook
Flash Fiction: A Wayne Donald & Kinley Chris Adventure
Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels. The image depicts a glowing, lit sign that reads “Arcade” hung above the entrance to a hallway. At the other end of the hall, we see a doorway leading to a room with different arcade games.
“I gots $5.75″ to spend at the arcade, Kinely Chris. That ain’t enough for four hours’ worth of playing video games. What you got?”
Wayne Donald yells to her big sister as she’s scraping change from her piggy bank for their impending trip to the mall to explore Jade’s Arcade. The girls do not get out often. With their grandmother being the town’s declared homebody, their Uncle Henry has access to them every few weeks and allows them a trip or two upon those visits.
“I have ten dollars. Now, lemme just say this… You know as well as I do that Uncle Henry ain’t gon’ give us more than $5.00 a piece when he comes, so I’ll go on and give you two of my ten dollars, so you’ll have $12.75 once he’s done handin’ out money. I’ll have ’bout a dollar more’n ya, so we can split that last dollar later, before we leave. That sound all right t’ya, Wayne Donald?”
Wayne Donald is shaking up her piggy bank, trying to see if any more coins are dangling from side to side. The empty echo of nothingness signals to her that she has nothing left to spare. She looks in Kinley Chris’s direction and nods her approval before speaking.
“Thanks, Kinley. I sure do appreciate that. I know which games I’m gon’ play, too! Mrs. Pac-Man, Frogger, Skee-Ball, and Air Hockey. And if Uncle Henry’ll put me on his shoulders, I’ll play basketball, too!”
“Ya ain’t skilled enough to play Frogger, and you always bouncin’ the balls into other lanes with Skee-Ball. Stick to what ya’know, and that’s Mrs. Pac-Man and Air Hockey.”
Silence fills the room, and the younger sister nods her head in agreement, and tilts it to the left—she’s trying to gauge whether or not she should just stick to what she knows. More than likely, she’s going to do what she wants anyway. She coughs into her cupped hands and rebuts.
“Kinley Chris, I do believe I’m gon’ play what I said I’m gon’ play. If I don’t try, how will I learn?”
“Y’know what, Wayne Donald?! Ya got me there. Ya got me.”
Uncle Henry pulls up to their grandmother’s castle-like home, parks his truck in the driveway, and honks the horn twice. The girls skate down the stairs, yell their goodbyes to their grandmother, and bolt through the front door.
“HEY, UNCLE HENRY!” They shout in unison.
“Hey, girls. So, Jade’s Arcade, right? Should be just a few tykes there by the time we get to town. Y’all buckle up for safety. And here’s ya money.”
He leans slightly over the front seat of his truck and hands the girls a $5.00 bill apiece—crispy bills, too. The girls look at each other with huge smiles, slapping their faces.
“THANKS, UNCLE HENRY!” The hum of the truck presses into the cool air of the late morning. Uncle Henry turns his radio to 94.5, and the lovely sounds of electric jazz fill the truck. A smile slaps his face, too, and before the girls can say anything else, he says tenderly…
This concludes the adventures of Wayne Donald and Kinley Chris. Thank you for joining me on their memorable journey!
This flash fiction piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. It is week #357. When I saw the image, the girls sprang into action, and the story above is what came to me.
Perhaps, you’ve got a story brewing within you, too, for this week’s image offering?
Scattered Words: Poems for Jernee Timid Loadholt is available now! Have you gotten your copy? Hardcover|eBook
A Cornered Gurl 
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