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She's a rebel against matching socks, Microsoft, and poems that rhyme. Doesn't care what anyone thinks about her, if you listen to the words that come out of her mouth. Her writing tells a different story.
I never knew that poems could be delectable, but her poetry is like dark chocolate that dissolves on your tongue bit by bit. The flavor can last all night. It's even caught my tongue, got me talking like one of her fancy poems.
When I first saw her, she was trying to find a ripe pomegranate at the grocery store. I showed her how; when she thanked me her freckle-splashed nose wrinkled like in "I Dream of Jeanie." That night I thought she had bewitched me. All I could think of was the way her smile cut into my dreams like a smooth dancer.
The next day she was back with another produce question. She could have asked comb-over Larry, because I was on break eating year-old Ritz crackers. Instead she asked for me. "The woman who works here, the one who knows so much about pomegranates." Her voice slipped through the break room doors and set my heart pounding.
That day she was wearing pink triangle earrings, and she handed me her number when she reached for the passionfruit I held out for her.
I don't know what a college girl saw in the likes of me, a run-down butch with a smoker's cough. But she was on my arm when we went to the Pink Panther club, and in my arms that night. She left before dawn, leaving a love poem on the kitchen table.
For forty days it went on like this. Then she disappeared; no calls, no visits to the produce department.
One day the campus literary magazine thumped into my mail box, with one short story circled. It was a message to me, though it was written as fiction. She even changed the gender of the main character, as though people wouldn't figure out it was about her that way.
It seems her parents wouldn't pay for college if she didn't follow their rules. She wants to be a college professor, which means a lot of school. So she is obeying their wishes, and not dating anyone black.
What a rebel. I saw her at the club yesterday. She held a snub-nosed white girl in her arms like a talisman against poverty.
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dailyprompt
I never knew that poems could be delectable, but her poetry is like dark chocolate that dissolves on your tongue bit by bit. The flavor can last all night. It's even caught my tongue, got me talking like one of her fancy poems.
When I first saw her, she was trying to find a ripe pomegranate at the grocery store. I showed her how; when she thanked me her freckle-splashed nose wrinkled like in "I Dream of Jeanie." That night I thought she had bewitched me. All I could think of was the way her smile cut into my dreams like a smooth dancer.
The next day she was back with another produce question. She could have asked comb-over Larry, because I was on break eating year-old Ritz crackers. Instead she asked for me. "The woman who works here, the one who knows so much about pomegranates." Her voice slipped through the break room doors and set my heart pounding.
That day she was wearing pink triangle earrings, and she handed me her number when she reached for the passionfruit I held out for her.
I don't know what a college girl saw in the likes of me, a run-down butch with a smoker's cough. But she was on my arm when we went to the Pink Panther club, and in my arms that night. She left before dawn, leaving a love poem on the kitchen table.
For forty days it went on like this. Then she disappeared; no calls, no visits to the produce department.
One day the campus literary magazine thumped into my mail box, with one short story circled. It was a message to me, though it was written as fiction. She even changed the gender of the main character, as though people wouldn't figure out it was about her that way.
It seems her parents wouldn't pay for college if she didn't follow their rules. She wants to be a college professor, which means a lot of school. So she is obeying their wishes, and not dating anyone black.
What a rebel. I saw her at the club yesterday. She held a snub-nosed white girl in her arms like a talisman against poverty.
cross-posted to
dailyprompt 
