Hell in a Handbasket, but There’s Still Time for Autumn

One of the last trees to still sport its autumn leaves. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

This nation, as I see it, is going to Hell in a handbasket. It will be carried by the same naysayers who believe the all-knowing and loving God is for their hypocritical ways and do not oppose their actions. The God you serve is not the God I serve. My God is more than likely weeping as he watches His children carry on like fools, senselessly taking the lives of others, running amok without fair cause, and denying human beings basic rights.

You are playing a flute that holds no sound, yet you want me to listen. Where is your melody? How does it benefit me? When will it actually do something worthwhile?

We elected a president who, when it all falls down, has sided with a judicial system that purposes a select few. He has said out of his mouth, to respect the system, to acknowledge what has been done peacefully. For real? Like, for real . . . real? Acknowledge a system that has NEVER worked in anyone of color’s favor? Acknowledge a system and respect it that could not bring forth a verdict that actually makes sense?

It is 2021, yet we are reliving days of Antebellum. There is no escaping this. This is what they want. And to get to where they intend to seek refuge, they will continue to whittle us down like pieces of wood.

I’m so tired of people making excuses for America. America has ALWAYS been this way. She isn’t changing. Her ways are not so distant from the 1800s–they’re only slightly different.

I walked through my neighborhood today, still seething in anger from an unjust system. I tried to remain calm. I tried to look to Jernee for some semblance of peace. But I found it . . . in the last leaves of autumn.


**I don’t intend to argue or go back and forth with anyone about my thoughts, feelings, and opinions. I know what I’ve lived, witnessed, been forced to do, and experienced. Racism is still alive and well. I don’t need anyone to tell me what is and isn’t.

Lover, Uninterrupted . . .

I am a sort of prey, it seems.
she wakes me from a fitful sleep,
calls me with her strong northern
accent to the witching hours of
the night; an owl, I am not,
but she doesn’t care.

It is her way; her endless highway
of rights and wrongs and I am a
lonely traveler–this wayward
lover uninterrupted by my life.
She throws a few digital
connectors at me, begs me to
fetch them, and I click the
buttons on my phone that
allow me to see her beautiful face.

Hook. Line. Sinker . . .
treading water is my specialty,
yet her waves are often too
powerful for me to combat.
I refuse to be Blue Crushed into
an abysmal end.
Set me free, I chant.

My friend of 30 years says
to me, “She better not be playing
with your heart. She’s flirting–
you know this, right?”
And, I do, but something about
it all seems necessary–essential?
I wait for the breakdown to occur.
Surely, one is forthcoming.

The dog hears her voice and
lifts her head from dreamland
and I flit for volume control–
it really was too loud.
But her voice . . . does something
to me for which I haven’t found the word
and searching for one keeps
me busy.

I am bewitched, and no one
can reverse the spell.
Not even the one who
cast it.

Serenity (For Nala)

Nala, sleeping peacefully. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

You will always be unmatched.
No other dog will come into
this Auntie’s heart the way you did.
You wrecking-balled your way
through–adamant about what
was necessary for your comfort.

Jernee hooked herself onto you
and wouldn’t let go.
She had to be around you and
follow your every move.
The jealous one hated to share
my lap but when you visited,
that’s where you found rest.
She had to get over it.

You claimed my empty guestroom
as your own, spending countless
moments of solitude with its space.
I never had to search for you,
I knew that’s where you were.
“You will be missed” doesn’t
say enough. It cannot say
all that I need it to say.

How do I tell Jernee?
What will be her reaction the next
time we visit your Mommy?
Will the silence deafen her?
Will she look for traces of you,
ever-vigilant to find them?
I don’t want to know what
this world is without the care
and comfort of a dog.

I’m glad you held time as
long as you could.
Warrior-dog, sassy and sweet,
and a safe space.
Serenity rained from your paws,
and we quickly understood the
beauty of Boston Terriers.

Oh, Nala, I don’t want you to
let go of my heart, but
I’ll have to find peace knowing
the skies opened up to
welcome a fur angel.

Rest well, pretty girl.


**Last night, Wednesday, September 22, 2021, my best friend had to put Nala down. This sweet girl had been fighting her hardest for the last three years to continue living. However, she had a seizure and was rushed to the emergency vet. It was there, the decision was made to let this sweet baby go. Those of you who have followed me for years know both Nala and Jernee as Double Trouble and I am surely going to miss her. Words cannot express how much, they simply cannot. Thank you for reading.

Turn My Body Loose

Abbott Birth by Victor Garcia. Used with permission.

A poetic rant

We, women . . . we cling to our bodies
our sense of self wrapped up in them
and warped to nothingness by the
White men who use their minds to
belittle and belie our truths at every
corner — at every junction. 
How are we to live in a nation
full of vultures?

How are we to cope?

A balking group of people has
made it their life’s work to
strip the woman of the one
thing we had total control over — the body.
And what next? What will they 
search and seize and lasso into
their slimy possession that 
belongs to us?

We are yclept weaker or lesser 
yet they use laws to silence us — to push
us into the closets of their making.
Is it fear? Is it egotistical? Is it bullying?
What can we say about the men 
who have no desire to protect us?
What can we say about the women
who support them?

Turn my body loose. You have
no reign here — it is mine. I carry it,
I nurture it — grow it into the massive
mountain you wish you could climb.
Tread lightly, though, I can shake it
and rattle you at my will. 
I can crush you if ever I feel the need to.

Were these your reasons? Is this your why?

Could you no longer take the 
strength and representation within
something built of atoms and flesh and blood
that is not solely yours?
It boggles my mind how senseless
human beings have become 
but even more so, how drunk with 
power many men are.

If it were up to me, I’d rally
the world around us to bury
your tongues in the potholes meant 
for them and turn the sun’s rays
up higher — burn, motherfucker, burn.
We’d stand by, fan the flames, and 
call Lucifer to your collective side.

We’d let him have his way with you,
just as you’ve had yours with us.


Originally published in my new publication, soliloque, via Medium.

A Cornered Gurl Has a New Look

ACG’s new logo. Created with Canva. Tremaine L. Loadholt

I had been meaning to switch up A Cornered Gurl’s look and feel for a few months now. I wanted something more permanent—something that spoke to who I am and what I have been experiencing of late. I am sure it’s no surprise to anyone reading. I am exhausted. Life is doing its best to sucker-punch me at every turn, but I live on. I fight on. There is still much more to be done. We are about to head into the year 2022, and we still have a raging pandemic at our heels. THERE IS STILL A PANDEMIC!!! When I look at those words, something in me crushes. My soul is in a constant state of unease. Why are we still here? How are we still here?

Several shifts in my mental state, my line of work, and my life overall led me to realize that the exploratory uses of artistic images from other incredible artists just aren’t enough for me. Sure, they all have given the site a fresh and sleek look with a great deal of appeal, but this new logo is me. It says it all. It gives you exactly who I am: “I am more than breath & bones. I am nectar in waiting.” And, it depicts an image of how I see myself these days with the woman created with digital line art. I am here—not here. I am living—not living. I am . . .

We are all struggling in some way of our own. Nothing about this situation has been easy. Loved ones are dead. Friends’ lives have been changed forever. Many of us are cabin fevered out, but it is for our own safety—our own health. But for how much longer? I am sick and tired. SICK AND TIRED! The audacity of the privileged or the ignorant or the arrogant or the people who have been “othered” a lot more because of this virus laughs heartily in our faces. We have the power to control this thing, however, we have chosen a different path.

A Cornered Gurl is my personal space in this humongous World Wide Web and if I cannot be comfortable anywhere else, I must be comfortable here. I have to be comfortable here. I am not ready to go or be anywhere else.

Peace and blessings