I remember lyin’ upon my momma’s bed lookin’ to the shards of sunlight slippin’ through the cracks of the wall’s boards; I came out upon that bed that was standin’ within a room that Momma called “the shed.” Well, she called it that because it stuck out from the side of the shack that we were livin’ within. Anyway, that shack stood upon the land of my daddy’s owner. Well, Momma saw him more as a boss than an owner, and I suppose that she had to see him that way because she hated him. Now, I say that because this was what I believed because the only time when I saw her smilin’ at him was when she was lookin’ to me or Daddy standin’ off in the distance. She sure did smile though when standin’ beside that little patch of vegetables, and flowers that Daddy grew for her: it was a lovely little patch behind the shack, and she’d stand there extendin’ her hand to those blooms one at a time turnin’ her palm to heaven to lift their faces to look into them. Well, from the look makin’ her expression, I tell you that I’d swear that she was lookin’ in to another world. Now, I don’t know, but she hated where she was, so I think that she was travellin’.

Well, at the time, I didn’t know hate as she seemed to know it because I didn’t mind our life because we had fun. Yes, my daddy, and momma made life fun with all our doins, and I didn’t have any brothers, or sisters, and that suited me fine as it suits me now. Yes, I was special because I was their creation; I was the one thin’ that they owned outright, and no one could change that! God made certain of that when turnin’ Momma’s parts: yes, he soured them, so the doctor took them out.

Now, I sit thinkin’, and I can’t say that I would have minded that. No, I know that I would not especially durin’ the hottest days when they began stirrin’ in air that was stagnant. Yes, I would have liked them taken, but I had to wait. Well, no matter as they are silent as my fruit has fallen from its tree. Oh, it was pinched a few times before droppin’, but that was long before it began to rot. Well, I am fine with it gone as I ain’t got no use for it. Hell, I should have used it never, but I cannot get into that now. No, I want to think of the fun days, and nights when everyone came together with voices risin’ to silence nature’s.

I feel my face smilin’, and I know that I should be sharin’ these memories with you, but they are precious to me, so you will have to give me time because I cannot give of myself freely. No, I’ve learned since takin’ on my own life that I am this way because of the little we had when I was young. Yes, we held tight to that little, so I hold tight now. Now, that is not to say that I have little because I have made my life from sellin’ the goods of others, so I have done well enough to raise my children.

I leave that thinkin’ that you might be wantin’ more to understand the goods that I am sellin’: I sell their remains. Oh, not their bodies after they’ve left them: I sell the possessions that they discard. Now, some might call them trash, but I find treasures amongst them. Well, it’s as my grannie would say when lookin’ to the gawky creature that I was when I was young: “You’ve got to work with what you got!” So, I dress them up marryin’ them to one another or addin’ some field flowers or homemade beeswax candles or fruits from the trees that my daddy planted. Well, people are amazed with my creative touch, so they buy.

Yes, they spend a penny here, and there, so I am grateful to hold the creativity my momma, and daddy, gave me, and I hope to have passed that on to my children because they are my friends despite them havin’ moved far from me. Now, I have, as told, regretted my fruit bein’ pinched, but that’s only because they speak to me rarely. I don’t know, but the young seem to feel shame from their beginnin’. Oh, not all of them as I have heard of others, and I have one them, and she will be my close friend forever because she came in to this world silent. I tell you that there is nothin’ more wrenchin’ than a silent birth. Why, the weight of that silence is crushin’, and to be handed that grey little thin’ is just killin’.

Well, I’m ramblin’. Oh, maybe it’s the heat, but my head is heavy, and the words are just spinnin’ inside of it, well, those that are not fallin’ out for you to read. Now, I have to laugh when thinkin’ of them fallin’ out of my head. Anyway, I am goin’ out to my “shed.” Oh, it ain’t any part of my little shack: it’s the old buildin’ behind holdin’ my treasures.


Now, there, such beauty glistens from the sunlight’s touch. Yes, every time when openin’ this door, I draw breath deep because the sun’s light flares from the china and cut glass adornin’ the tables fillin’ this room. People don’t think, but every piece holds its secrets: lives lived and died before them. Why, this cup alone could have been lifted to the lips of a dyin’ woman; it could have provided the nourishment providin’ that woman another sunrise. No, people don’t think at all about such thins.

I find myself laughin’ again because these pieces take me away from havin’ to think. Yes, I can escape in to the stories that they provide. Why, I look to this cracked plate, and I feel myself bein’ drawn into the crack, but it opens a wound when remindin’ me of Momma pushin’ Daddy’s boss off me: I was a slip of a thin’ when he came up behind me; I don’t know, but Momma must have been hoverin’ because I felt the jolt with his first touch, and she tore me from him, and her voice was shrill to stingin’ my ears. Now, I tell you that I have just realized that this added to her hatred of him; still, I could see it at the time as the spit restin’ between the seam of her clenched lips boiled from the fire burnin’ within her. Well, I could not have understood it at the time because I held no undertandin’ of a man’s brittle stick and the fruit hangin’ beneath it.

It must be this late-season heat because my mind is spinnin’ to my lyin’ husband, and I know that I would not spin there from my choosin’. Oh, he was an ugly fool, and his stick was bent, and I imagined someone before me attemptin’ to break it as I wanted to break it when hearin’ of him plantin’ it in so many gardens. Well, I didn’t: I just let him go, and he drank himself right into the river. Yes, he wandered in, and the current took him away from me.

Now, time was tough after that because I had no skills. I found my creativity though, so I can stand before the fruit of my labor plump, and happy, because it has fed me well. Yes, I suppose that I should thank him from givin’ me the freedom to find myself, but he gave me lies, and infestation of my garden that I suffered until bein’ able to pay the doctor for the cure. Yes, he made me sick in many ways, so I will thank him never. I don’t even use the river’s water because I know that it’s spoiled from him.

Anyway, as that river carried him from me, time carries me on, and I am alone as my momma, and daddy are dead, and my children are silent. Oh, when I think of this, I feel trapped despite my one friend standin’ beside me. Now, I am goin’ to contradict myself as I can hold her while feelin’ the space that separates us.

Now, listen to me lamentin’ my upset when I am standin’ before such beauty. Still, the seasons are changin’; the sun’s light burns orange, and it tinges the land with its color. Yes, the gardens are fadin’, and the visitors to my “shed” are fewer. Well, this is to be expected with their kids back in school, and money bein’ saved for their holidays. Never, will I understand my treasures bein’ not acknowledged as gifts because they are each gifts to me!


Oh, I hate lookin’ out to winter: the frost is too heavy and my treasures too cold to be touched. It is a silent time when I should be gatherin’ strength, but I am tired while doin’ nothin’ to exhaust me. Well, look there as there is a Daddy-longlegs spider restin’ upon a leaf of my geranium. My Daddy loved them, and I do too as he sits lookin’ up to that scarlet blossom. Yes, they brighten this grey day.

He, if he is a he, must have come in with the geranium, and he has been hidin’ to offer me a surprise. Well, I am happy that he’s warm, and I am goin’ to sit here lookin’ to him: “Yes, Daddy, we don’t have to do anythin’. No, we can just rest because you seem as tired as I am as you sit there lookin’ back to me.”


Well, look at the bright sunlight, and feel the air warm. Mmm, it smells to be touched with the perfume of magnolias; ohhh, I feel refreshed; I feel limber; now, I ain’t felt that in years! Yes, all the creaks seem to be gone from my fingers; I can stand as quick as a rabbit leaps.

Well, it appears that I have been sleepin’ to spring; it cannot be. Wait, is that my little Belle pluckin’ that scarlet blossom from my geranium. Oh, and she’s laughin’ so happily. Now, who’s that steppin’ towards me? The light is too bright to tell, but I feel a warm hand touchin’ me. It feels as when my momma placed her hand to my back to comfort me when I was ill. Yes, I am bein’ held and moved towards a light as bright as the sun’s.

By Christopher DelMonaco

From: United States

Twitter: cdelmonacowrite