Our Last Day Together

A lamentation

Jernee Timid & I during her fifteen-minute twilight phase. Photo Credit: Karlie B. Cornelius


Fifteen minutes isn’t enough
time to say goodbye to
a best friend.

It’s light work.
A chit-chat session.
An offering for small talk.

I needed forever.
I didn’t get it.

Life is a reminder that
we all meet our demise.
No one is exempt.

My mind knows this.
It has processed the definitive
inevitability of an end date
one thousand times, but
my heart?!

My heart is still on pause.

I worry… how long will
it remain in limbo
while everything else within
me moves without stopping?


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.

Daredevils

Sunday Microfiction #2

Pictured Microfiction created with Canva. Sunday, June 15, 2025, was Father’s Day, and I already had two posts scheduled to publish. I did not want a third. Therefore, you get this treat today on a Tuesday.

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 my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

Monday As the Bad Guy on a Good Day

Another Monday waltzes in uninvited,
and I greet it with an unapproving eye.
I have to be nice to it, though. It holds the fate
of my workweek in its hands.

Sighs yet another necessary evil
I have to shuffle through
in order to stay sane.

No one tells you how hot the
dumpster fire is until you’re
knee-deep in it, and the caps
have lost their cartilage.

The crush’s daughter has a
new puppy; a pitbull. She
sent me a photo of him
lying on the carpeted floor –
in deep sleep.

Instantly, I’m in love. It
shifted my Monday to a
new space – one I could
appreciate better. Ace is his
name. I joke about being a
great aunt.

It was the first day of my
co-worker’s absence, and I
hadn’t worked through her
not being there, but I would
now.

I realized the loneliness
later as hours ticked by and I
had to fill in the holes of
spaces that my supervisor sunk
herself in.

I am filler, and I am
placed everywhere.
And everywhere is coming
for me.


I wanted to play around with this piece that started off as a rant of sorts for my Substack notes. After putting a bit more of ME into it, the above-written work is the result.

She Walks and Thunder Takes a Bow

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

Remember my neighbor who has thunder in her heels?

I introduced myself one night as she was storming down the hall. Her smile appeared before I could part my lips, “Hey! Good evening! I’m Tre, by the way.” She nodded and acknowledged me as I fumbled with my keys, attempting to lock my door. “Hey, Tre. Nice to meet you. I’m Marcella.” I instantly think, And now, I know her name. I can greet her accordingly from this moment forward.

She strikes me as someone who commands the air around her to be still and it probably will. She’s not rude–no, not by a long shot. At least, not from what I can tell. She is, however, stern and confident in her approach to things. I get this–I can sense this. And why shouldn’t she be?

Marcella bolts around the corner just past my door and smiles in my direction once again, “Good night, Tre.” I am taken aback by this as I had already started to head down the hall in the opposite direction, but I don’t let the opportunity pass me by to wish her a good night also . . . “Oh! Good night to you as well, Marcella!”

We’ve made each other’s acquaintance, and I can breathe easier knowing someone’s name who lives just a couple doors down. We are surrounded by people we do not know–may not care to know, however, I must become familiar with people and places in my surroundings. I have always been this way. I doubt I will ever change.

On the eve of a night when bombs land on hospitals and children’s lifeless bodies are removed from debris spread about their homeland, I toss the idea of communing with others just for shits and giggles in my rattled brain. Why aren’t we a more loving people?! What is happening to humanity? Gone are the days when we could see a child slain in broad daylight and our heart splits in two, withers, and slides down to our feet until we’re walking on our pain.

W H Y A R E N ‘T W E E N R A G E D?!

I try to remind myself not to sink too far down the rabbit hole of videos and articles about the goings-on and genocide occurring in a country/land that feels half a world away. But as time ticks on, I watch another reel, read another blurb, and find my eyes fixated on yet another image, and I can’t pull away.

But I think back to Marcella–the woman with thunder in her heels who appears to be forceful yet gentle, too. And I wonder, is she thinking about world issues and how we need to attempt to save humanity also? Or, is she wrapped up in her own little world simply trying to survive while the rest of us who are too sensitive crumble?

And just as I am preparing to read for the night and tuck myself into cottoned delight, I hear her storm down the hall once more.

And I notice thunder take a bow.