Finish It! #34 begins with:

She saw the bundle in the corner, covered by dirty blankets. It moved. It was freezing cold. No wonder it was trying to find cover or at least a little bit of it under the shredded and filthy fabric. It must be desperate, she thought. She was just about to walk on when she heard the sound coming from under the blankets. And it was not what she had expected to hear. She froze and slowly turned around….

And here’s my story:

Diane slowly unwrapped the blankets.

It couldn’t have been more than a day old, it’s eyes barely able to open in the sunlight. Its tiny fingers clamped onto her thumb. Despite its small size, it pulled her closer, drawing in her body heat.

It cried louder. Clothed in only the dirty blankets it lay in, it spread its legs to reveal that it was a girl.

Diane scooped the baby into her arms, pressed her against her chest and pulled her fleece coat tightly around her to seal in the heat and warm the child’s shivering, cold body. She looked around and inside the nearby dumpster for evidence that a birth might have taken place there. She walked further up the sidewalk, searched the alleys between buildings for the unwed teenager or homeless mother who’d assumed this innocent child had a better chance of survival abandoned on the side of the road when the closest hospital was only two blocks away.

Diane paused before turning the corner toward Hudson General. The child’s shivering had stilled, her breaking steady. She pulled back the collar of her coat to look down at her. Her skin was caked in dried blood, but Diane could see her natural color beginning to flush her cheeks as her body temperature slowly rose.

She would wash her when she got home. Maybe there was a pack of diapers, some bottles, a few onesies still stored in her garage from her fraudulent baby shower last spring. She would have to check the expiration date on the formula, but she was certain there was a can on the top shelf in her kitchen cabinet.

Diane smiled to herself as she bounced the baby against her chest. Pregnant women are magnets for touchy hands. However, none of her friends, or colleagues, not even her husband, thought to reach out a hand and feel how squishy her stomach was.

Unfortunately, faking a birth was more difficult. She had to go to the hospital, and her Griffin had to go with her and discover her whole charade. If only she had found this little bundle three months prior— before Griffin moved back to West Memphis and mailed her the divorce papers.

“My water broke while you were at work,” she imagined telling him. “I had her in the bathtub. She came so quickly, I didn’t have time to call you.” Of course, she would have had to obtain some fake blood to corroborate her story.

“Come on, Stephanie,” she whispered into her coat, kissing the top of the baby’s head. She turned in the opposite direction of the hospital. The lights emitted from the facility dimmed against her back. “Mommy’s got some clothes for you to try on.” They were blue for Griffin, Jr., but the doctor had obviously gotten it wrong. Besides, fingers are often mistaken for little wangers on the sonogram.


A Spring Poem English #frapalymo

I’ve been out sick for the past few days (sinus pressure was so bad, it hurt to sit up and stare at a computer screen). Spring and summer colds are the absolute WORST! Who knows, it might be allergies. Although I seem to clear up whenever I step outside, so maybe it’s the building I work in. Ah, yes. That’s it! I’m allergic to my job!

Anyway, I hope to feel better by diving into this prompt for #frapalymo: “write a spring poem without the word spring in it.” Hopefully it will clear my sinuses, and I’ll be able to smell and hear again. Thanks, Bee, for translating again!


I awake to knocking on my windowsill.
I rise, pull open the blinds.
It is a young robin—
first time mother—
building a nest
between the rotting wood of the
windowsill and the brickface
of the front of my house.
We lock eyes for a moment—
touching our round bellies;
it is time.
The snow has melted away;
patches of freshly grown grass
glisten in the newborn sunlight—
icy water droplets lingering on the blades.
The trees are budding,
stretching their limbs towards the sky,
absorbing every ray of sun
to birth rose pink, alabaster silk,
and saffron tulle flowers.
I want to open my window—
sniff the crisp, pure air
of the  fledgling season,
but I mustn’t disturb a mother
preparing for her young.
She nods. I nod back
and turn to start the construction
of a nest for my own tiny suckling.



Sunday Photo Fiction: Fertility Goddess

“What the hell is that?” Jasmine asked as Alana placed a wooden figurine about two feet tall onto the end table in Jasmine’s living room.

“It’s an African fertility goddess. Mbaba wana . . . something or another. It’s Zulu. Do you like it?”

“Girl, you know I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“I know, but you and David have been trying so hard to have a baby. And I know it’s really been getting you down that you’re still not pregnant. I thought this would cheer you up.”

Jasmine twisted her mouth.

“If it helps, I only paid five bucks for it,” Alana said.

“Thrift store?”

“Girl, you already know!”

* * * *

That night, Jasmine awoke to someone poking her stomach. A heavy-set, brown skin woman with long dreadlocks stood over her. Jasmine thought about screaming, asking the woman how she got in her house, who she was, demanding she leave.

The woman turned, looked straight in Jasmine’s eyes, and making a popping sound with her mouth, she poked Jasmine one last time in the navel before vanishing.

Jasmine quickly shook her husband lying beside her.

“Whaaa,” he said groggily.

“Take off your shorts!” she said as she shuffled out of her panties underneath the covers.

word count: ~200


This is in response to Sunday Photo Fiction: write a story around 200 words based on the provided photo prompt. Click the froggy icon to read other stories and add your own.

sff 3-29

SoCS: No Holds Barred Poetry Writing Challenge: Day 30

She still can’t open her eyes.
I cradle her pink, oval
face in my calloused, black hands.
Paint chips still on my jeans—
finishing a job when I got the call.
Mother extends a blessing hand from the bed,
pink band around her wrist.
Her scratchy voice says Rosa.
The little body cupped in my wide arms wiggles.
Her nose scrunches. Her lips quiver.
She opens her mouth and releases a shrill scream.
My first reaction to the birth of
my precious baby girl—
Her breath stinks.


And I am done with my poetry writing challenge! Yes, I have successfully written a new and original poem every day for 30 days (though I never quite confirmed that 30 days would be the goal). If you’d like to read previous poems for my No Holds Barred Poetry Writing Challenge, click the My Poetry tab on the navigation menu. This is also part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday and Love Is In Da Blog. Today’s prompt: relative/relativity.