SAN ANTONIO, CURTAINS DRAWN the bad man’s dim lair lamps shaped like naked ladies stretching their nymphet limbs imprisoned in brass and pewter cigarette smoke stings my eyes a room full of shadows I am up to their knees wearing a dress with lace tights patent leather shoes people carry drinks ice against amber glass rum and coke, gin and tonic when they set them down I drink the last few sips they laugh, say it’s cute where is my mom? I hear her voice but I cannot see her want to hold her hand hide in the folds of her skirt the sweat clings to places I didn’t know were there crawl under the table wait until the party is over
Carrie Lynn Hawthorne is a writer and a mother from Pasadena, CA. You can find her work in publications such as The Hennepin Review, Sunlight Press, Cultural Daily, Parhelion Literary Review, and more.
All rights © Carrie Lynn Hawthorne
a moon of one's own 