Mother, May I?

Her glasses touch the tip of her nose. She scans the room to see if anyone is watching only to find no witnesses. Her fingers bang against the black keys alerting ears in close distance. She's typing too fast for work but fast enough for conversation and passion. Papers scattered along her desk, she has the world fooled. She is messy, yes, but on purpose. She is smiles and light giggle and hasn't been this way in months. As the office door opens she tries to adjust her face and the pace of her fingers. "So can I borrow your son and his stroller or???" she types. She's trying this new healthy living kick that has worked in some areas, and in others, not so much. The scale at the gym tells her the truth. Her friends, tell her lies. "Are you losing weight?," they ask sizing her up and down. She looks at her stomach and tucks her hands behind her love handles. "Um, sure, if you say so." She recalls the skinny girls and their wagging blonde pontyails running on treadmills. The bulky brothas in the back of the room draw her attention as they silently lift weights. Beside her is the grunting, pencil-thin Asian who shamelessly stares at the back of her butt.

She opts not to go to the gym of Saturdays, instead walks along a trail full of babies in strollers, seniors with canes and daughters to assist. The daddy pushing his little girl with her bright eyes and pink pajamas gives her an idea. She doesn't like to run, she's self conscious, her breasts hurt at every leap, and she doesn't do it like the others with their expensive running shoes and matching sports bras. A stroller could do the trick of increasing her heart rate. It's all about the cardio, right?

"Girl, I'm not letting you borrow my baby. You can take his stroller and use a babydoll," she finally responds. She imagines, and  laughs at how psychotic she'd look in public. "I hate you," she types with an LOL at the end. Her best friend is downstairs typing away laughing aloud in her office at her request. It's her third day back from maternity leave and with every passing minute misses "the boy". "You are nuts," she says.

Lost and Found

i dig my toe into the dirt pushing the cigarette butt away. She didn't smoke so I can't imagine how it got there. the heat from the sun produces beads of sweat under my arms. My own ick begins to turn me off as I stand there staring. The last time I was here the sun was absent. Raindrops smeared my pink blazer while the heels of my patent leather shoes stuck to the wet dirt. My natural hair ruined with every passing minute, it couldn't end fast enough. It's been six months and her place here is only recognizable by the outline of the covered hole. Beside her he lies. My cousin, with his marquee,. Beloved son, father, grandson and great-grandson. There are many more of us but for now I just want to see her. Continue my Sunday ritual. No longer do I circle the crowded streets for a parking space nearby. Churchfolks aren't in my way today. The aid with the ponytail and soft voice will not greet me at the door. The smell of midday stove-top coffee no longer tickles my nostrils. I hear a child's laughter from beyond the fence, the commentator from the city's football game on closed circuit, the uptempo of the latin beat and her voice with its heavy, southern drawl. The tears don't form like I expect. Instead, my eyes burn with fury at what is absent.

Her headstone.

Reunion

You sit kicking your feet into the floor as the soft cushion of the booth massaged your cheeks. Sitting at an oversized, bare table alone looks pathetic to the average onlooker, laughing with friends or watching the football game. You are alone by choice, but you are really here to see him. It's been awhile and your heart feels a little empty where he usually would be but wouldn't know it. He comes to your table with a smile that you've never seen before. He's unrecognizable to your spirit, but his skinny, tall frame awaken your eyes. "You're glowing," you admit. "Fatherhood," he says. "Girl, give me a hug," he orders. You hesitate to wiggle from the booth but you obey watching your head stops at his chest. You don't do this often with people, the hug thing, but this feels right. "Want to see your nephew?," he asks. "Of course."

Ungirl

They sipped slowly from champagne plastic cups. Giggles and "Girl, if that was me..." followed every other question. Dolled up faces and skin tight jeans. No club admission, maybe some action after, if he texts back. They enjoy the night as strangers pass by. You don't belong but you're there because she sees you as an adult now. No longer her shadow, you are almost her equal. You smile at what you can't relate to and dare not to disclose that of which you can. You sit legs crossed at the ankles sipping slowly on your Deer Park water on the rocks.

The Date

She smoothes the wrinkles out of her dress. Glides the stick of rose along her lips. She puckers two times and slips into her heels and crosses the doorway. She waits on the porch in her mother's old plastic chair. No headlights greet her, just the moon's light.