Eating Dirt

Dirt in my mouth— I’m still spitting grit. I used to play in the driveway with my Big Foot monster truck while Mom and Dad argued in the kitchen; their voices obliterated the window screen and shattered my veins. My bottom lip was always bleeding from punctures pressed by top teeth, bunny sharp. My skinContinue reading “Eating Dirt”

Viscera in Danger (revamp)

Their need is visceral. Oh! Pretty blonde girl, fresh trailer park trash, junkyard dogs snarl and quarrel over your flesh— tongues wag to get at your bones. Twelve years old, and your marrow is aromatic.   Mother’s a full-time drunk, and you only got a part-time daddy.   Good luck, babe; welcome to Contaminated Manor.Continue reading “Viscera in Danger (revamp)”

Intermittent Bullshit

You were goddamned gorgeous, and a fucking conundrum, my mother. When I think of all the men in your life who’d tried to solve your riddles, I laugh. The relics of those men inhabit a corner in the catacombs of my heart. I don’t want them, but each one retains a precious part of you,Continue reading “Intermittent Bullshit”

Let’s Play Pretend

I’ve never let my imagination run away and out of my control; even as a child, I kept my personal fantasies realistic. I didn’t pretend I was a magician, or that a unicorn grazed in my backyard; and I don’t recall ever having an imaginary friend. Playing pretend with my friends was always a choreContinue reading “Let’s Play Pretend”

Rotting Penis Disease

Memories are just fragments of film. It’s odd, some of the events our brains retain, be they home movies, or pure fiction–intricate fabrications focused tighter and tighter over time. The power of suggestion is strong, indeed. My mother is one of those story tellers who believes in the fables she’s invented, says my dad. IContinue reading “Rotting Penis Disease”

Wishing For Death: 1

Understand me. I wished him dead. I did have half a mind to kill him once, with a cast iron skillet, caught up in the white-hot frenzy. I was fourteen years old, and convinced I was prepared to murder the man choking my mother in the kitchen while a beef roast baked in the oven.Continue reading “Wishing For Death: 1”

Trailerparkal Tendencies (continued)

My mother met an over-the-road trucker named Ken, who moonlighted as a fauxy cowboy. She thought he looked like Burt Reynolds; Smokey and the Bandit, eternally scarred. In the words of Buford T. Justice, “Suuummm-bitch!” Worse though, he pissed all over one of the greatest westerns ever filmed, Tombstone, with his imitation Doc Holliday. “I’m your Hunkel-berry,”Continue reading “Trailerparkal Tendencies (continued)”

Trailerparkal Tendencies

T loves Kindra He spray painted the words on the side of a random shed. Fluorescent pink screamed against green corrugated metal. A little ginger bitch who lived in a goldenrod trailer saw the declaration, and she promptly told my mother. This girl’s nickname was Saginaw News, because too often you didn’t even know your own goddamnedContinue reading “Trailerparkal Tendencies”

Trifolium repens

A handful of white clover for Mother. She’ll place them in a paper vase–a small Dixie cup printed with a pink and yellow tulip pattern. On the kitchen windowsill, the bouquet will wilt in a few days time. But I’m her personal florist, and it’s summer–plenty more days ahead. I know she prefers my cloversContinue reading “Trifolium repens”

Viscera in danger;

Their need is visceral, oh! pretty blonde girl–fresh trailer park trash. Junk yard dogs snarl and quarrel over your flesh–tongues wag to get at your bones. You’re twelve years old, and your marrow is aromatic. You sweat July, unpacking moving boxes. Mother is already drunk. Welcome to Contaminated Manor–find your place in the court, somehow…Continue reading “Viscera in danger;”