Whenever I see her skunk-streaked hair and black eyes, I
feel broken eggshells under my feet. Oh fidget. I smile in
a pinch, that’s what my momma taught me, to be polite while
waiting in the line outside the old Flame movie theatre. She
yammers like we never left off, and I listen like I’m keeping
my lips just above rising water. I look up into the dull night
sky & see the red pulse of the weather satellite passing over. I
interrupt her spew. Sure feels like rain, I mutter, my clenched
fists shoved into my tight jean’s pockets.


M.J. Iuppa lives on a small farm near Lake Ontario’s shores. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.