4 minute read
Non-Believer by Tony Sterling
from Lagniappe Vol. 5
Invictus | Water Color | Maricela Hernandez
By Maria Ramirez
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Death smells in the air Souls fight, Fear covers their faces, But bravery colors their eyes Blood runs into the rivers of pain Weapons killing lives, But not justice Suns and moons come and go Without a solution to the problem
By Maria Ramirez
When the ocean meets the sky You will realize You are with the wrong soul
When the ocean meets the sky I am going to steal you away I am going to fight massive Tsunamis and the intensity of Thunderstorms to have you
When the ocean meets the sky I will no longer be chained To the abyss of rightness but to The wrongfulness of coveting you
When the ocean meets the sky, Waves will crush time And space against their will; Water will weather my sanity Away, and storms will darken My soul with selfishness
When the ocean meets the sky You will be mine But with a heavy heart I know The ocean never meets the sky
Ocean Waves | Oil | Stephania Juarez
By Jillian Brooks
Melissa wraps her arm around her daughter as they stand silently in the rain. Her little girl clings to her side, refusing to shed a tear. Momma Joe, Melissa’s mother, died three weeks ago. Abby still isn’t completely sure what’s happening around her, but she comforts her mother every time she gets that look on her face; glossy eyes, slack jaw, wet cheekbones.
That’s how she’s looked every day since her grandmother left. Abby often wonders when she will come back, but Momma tells her that she won’t be here for a long time.
“Are you all right, Lady?” Melissa squats down and brushes a strand of wet hair away from her daughter’s face.
She nods, looking toward her pink sneakers that are coated in mud. Her grandmother always called her Lady, and Abby was fond of the nickname since it made her feel womanly and mature.
“Come here, little Lady!” She would call for her, and Abby would always come running from wherever she was. Their relationship was something quite beautiful. That’s what a man said at Momma Joe’s funeral, and Abby thinks she knows what he was talking about.
The way they would cook together, eat together, walk, talk, and even clean together; they were like the same soul trapped in two separate bodies. Their love for puppies and sunflowers showed through everything they did, and her grandmother loved her very much. Since she left, Abby has felt slightly lonely, which is something all new to her.
She and her mother stride toward their car, holding hands and looking at the ground. Abby rides silently, staring out the window as the radio sounds out around her. Her mother strokes her long, wet hair, and she nearly falls asleep to the sound of the rain. When they park in their driveway, Abby is slightly hesitant to leave the car, but she doesn’t show her mother. She hops out and follows Melissa into their small home, walking past a row of pictures. Abby stops and retraces her steps, stopping in front of a photo of her and Momma Joe. It’s the last picture they ever took together.
Her smile is wide and joyful, the same as Abby. She looks so very happy, and Abby wishes to see her like that one more time. Perhaps when she comes back to see her loving granddaughter, they can walk through the garden. The young girl would love to ask her all sorts of questions about her trip that she took.
“Go clean up, Lady. We have to meet your father in twenty minutes,” Melissa says, and her daughter nods and hops up the stairs toward the bathroom.
Abby is unaware of this, but ten years would pass by within the blink of an eye. She would pick a college to attend, break up with her second boyfriend, and have her own dog in the span of those short years. She would walk past that picture every day on the way to her room, or perhaps after an argument with her mother, or on a particularly harsh day, she would stomp by instead.
Through the years, it has grown a thick layer of dust, as Abby has completely forgot about her loving grandmother. It has been a long time since she realized that Momma Joe wasn’t coming back, and that cancer enjoys striking down the loveliest of people.
On rare occasions, she will stop in front of the picture and swipe away the dust to see Momma Joe’s wonderful smile. She will sigh and get the look on her face that her mother had each time she saw the photograph: glossy eyes, slack jaw, and wet cheekbones.
