writing flash fiction is such a joy for me
creating poems in the first person as I often do holds me back a bit
I sometimes fear a kind reader will think, “AnnMarie is sad, AnnMarie is whacked, AnnMarie better get her shit together…”😉
in flash fiction I can go hog-wild
it’s liberating for a mom of two teens, a giant husband, one small dog and caretaker of three elderly folks
this particular flash piece is based in reality
it is near and dear to my heart as is my sweet mom (her image in background)
My parents got to the hospital just in time for me to enter the world. I was born several minutes past midnight, deep inside the womb of Saint Mary’s. When my dad went to pay the bill, he was informed by a dulcet-faced nun, he owed not for one but two full days. He inquired about the additional charges.
The congenial nun responded, “According to our paperwork, your daughter was born on May 19th, not May 20th. Our records do not reflect daylight savings time.”
Vito didn’t like being taken advantage of even by elevated folks of the cloth. He argued with the administrative woman of God. But with wife and newborn held as good faith collateral, my father relented and paid the extra twenty dollars.
I retell this story every May 19th to remind anyone who might care – “It’s okay to give AnnMarie, 2 birthday presents.”
they say you can never go back
she did, at 79
the magic of optimism
in her breast
returning to Coney Island
for the ride of her life
a young man locked her in
brave nana, kneecaps knocking
beneath that padded bar
she didn’t look back
at the dropping parallel lines
stomach lifting steel
smiling, laughing, screaming
on this Halloween
she leaps another year to the right
considering each 365, a dazzling gift
nothing about her has changed much
her remarkable passion
her boundless spirit
why, in 80 years
the only thing that has changed
is the ticket price
her first ride cost twenty-five cents
last month, the Cyclone was twelve dollars
little witch babies and tormenting black skies
long dark dresses swinging like death bells
a frail newborn with antlers growing
crying out as it tries to lift its weak neck
ocean-deep in salted sweat
those early months
a pink infant
without bony deciduous growth
or skull-sunken cheeks
seventeen Halloween moons gone by since,
those first seconds
one more fall harvest
perfect little face departs
scary baby mask, mixed media rendered a few weeks back…
the first time I was pregnant: during the first trimester, I had many bizarre dreams–some were nightmarish, others surreal like Dali paintings…my oldest is now 17 and college planning is on, lots of positive dreaming 🙂
illuminating the atmosphere
she leaves a room
her brightness remains
how blessed are those
sharing the light of her company
I’d love to believe
moments live on forever
I’d like to be remembered
for my mother’s breathtaking smile
May you dream of all selfless mothers everlasting…
Photos taken from two entertainment shows my mom’s community center put on. In both pics she (I think) lip syncing Peggy Lee. In real life my mom has lovely brown hair and doesn’t wear plastered makeup, but she gets a kick out of these pics. I hope you do too. In the top photo (most recent) she is 79 years old, photo below she is 78.
Below is one of my kooky graphics from a few months back. Done in Prisma pencil.
A bulletin board hangs in my kitchen. It supports a collection of photos spanning a few generations. This morning, while tidying up (I must speak with the house elf) my mom’s sorority picture caught my eye. What is is about old monochromatic images. I’ve never met an old black & white that didn’t jet my heart back into a romantic world – the classic dress, the heavy-lipsticked smile, the proper pose, and of course, the sophisticated hairstyle with curls and waves set in their geometric place.
I was staring at this classic photo and thought it would serve as a perfect leveler for my ‘sexy’ dragon. Why did I draw a sexy dragon? You know, I don’t know. She just came to me, and like my other little creatures, I had to release her from my brain or she’d stay in there and get me into trouble. 🙂 I’m sorry for the brief nudity. Think of her as old-school voluptuous.
The lovely sorority lady below is my beautiful mother. I added the green tint because I think she’s still sexy. 🙂
Sorority Photo (sorry, don’t know photographer’s name, but it’s a lovely shot)
Sexy Dragon created with Prisma pencil, two days ago while drinking wine 🙂
As many of you know, I refer to my 6’7″ spouse as the giant husband. Now, one doesn’t go about meeting giant husbands without first palling-around with other large people. There was one such grand person who I affectionately called Big Mike. Big Mike was a six-foot-four, life-loving, grapefruit-muscled, enormous hearted Irishman. In short, Big Mike was the infectious laughter at the party. He was the one always wearing a perpetual smile. He was Big Mike.
June 5, 1993 was the night I met the giant husband for the very first time. I was hanging out with friends at a small town pub. I was with my dear lifelong friend Joe, and of course, Big Mike. Big Mike was – for lack of a better description – ‘busting up the joint!’ He was letting fly, joke after joke in his big booming voice. The giant husband’s roommate at the time happened to be laughing along with the rest of us. The roommate phoned the giant husband. He informed him of Big Mike’s antics and suggested he come to the pub.
Not too long after the roommate’s phone call, this giant of a man – bigger than Big Mike – was filling-up the small pub’s doorway. His dark hair touched the door frame above and his broad shoulders met either side. As the giant husband stood there, Big Mike, larger-than-life, announced to the room while pointing at the giant husband, “and there’s the biggest man I know!” And the rest they say, is history…
Big Mike left this world too soon. I find when there is a clear sky and the sun is out, I can almost hear Big Mike’s booming laughter. I painted this portrait of Big Mike for his mother.
Thank you and goodnight. May your dreams be filled with the booming-gentle laughter of sweet spirits…