Words fall from my fingertips during an absurd time of human existence.
Tag: writing
News: Oh Malheureuse!
I’m very excited to have three of my poems in French posted at La Prairie des Femmes as part of her “Oh Malheurese!” series. On her blog, teacher, writer, musician and photographer Ashlee Wilson Michot recalls, “As a woman who learned lots of French from Cajun and Zydeco music, I was struck at how many…
Ruminations: Anniversaries, Adulting and Snuggling with Tina Fey
Yesterday would have been my great-grandfather’s 118th birthday and my 26th wedding anniversary. The day before yesterday would have been Nana and PawPaw’s 74th anniversary? Whoa. I was a young thing when I got married, and it only lasted a couple of years. But I will say it was a learning experience. I have…
Ruminations: Mom is Breathing
My mother’s blood races through me, gasping for breath, searching out the experiences she missed. Is there still time? There must still be time, she says. She conjures up my thirst for British tea, her favorite. She encourages me to eat onion and mayonnaise sandwiches. They make my stomach hurt, I whine. Nonsense. Eat them….
Prose: Exposed
Walk up. They turn my way, see through me. Inside. Outside. I am naked. Beautiful shoulders. Love your hair. Nice legs. Grab it. Grope it. Kiss me. No me. No me. My body trembles. That was my last drink. And on and on and on he kept on. Time to go. Who am I? Who…
Prose: Silent America
Senses are heightened. Look around. Notice. I push the radio off button, roll down the windows and soak up the humidity. A faint cool breeze chills my left shoulder, tickling thoughts of early mornings, Mom driving me to the mill where the yellow school bus waited for me. The air thick with the scent of…
Prose: Friday 13, Locked, Loaded and Le Tired
Crusty eyes, if I lay here for a little while longer. What time is it? Shit, the clock. That’s it. Framed ax-yielding reflections and another sex joke. Hard to swallow, this head of mine. Walking shoes on. Hoodie zipped. Ear buds in. Gone girl. The rain beat me to it. A few minutes’ reprieve. Buzz…
Dreams: One night in December
It was there, small, but coiled on the plant branch in the apartment. I wasn’t expecting it to be there. I brought her in to see it; she’d know what to do. It slithered on the floor. Sometimes it looked like a blond, slightly golden, furry kitten. She approached it as such, slowly, cooing as…
Prose: Driving Home
I try to see, but not. It’s 6:14am. Nana slings open her bedroom door. She’s later than normal. I pop out of the twin bed in what should be the dining room and limp my way into hers. I’m still feeling the effects a fairly middle-aged woman might after too much dancing, whatever that means,…
Anne-Julia Price 