Skip to main content

Summer Whites

At least once a summer, I get it into my head I will spend the day outside on a blanket, reading and tanning. I get a lot of reading accomplished, anyway.

My sun was hot today. And of course, I get tricked by it.
I drag out my green blanket, my notebooks, my coffee and a good summer novel. Desperate for a tan, I apply baby oil, sighing, knowing the futility in it. My skin remains white all year round.
I watch the thick trails of baby oil move slowly down my legs, leaving behind it's shine. If my skin was golden, this might be kind of sexy. I pout.
I spread out on my blanket feeling the heat sinking it rays deep, deep, deeper into my skin.
My neighbors behind me are playing Tom Jones. I find myself immersed in the abyss of his voice, suggestive and sexual. It seems to roll with the waves of heat touching my skin. I am lucky a cool breeze periodically washes across my warm body.
At least I get to pretend I am not wasting away my afternoon.
I watch as bees stir around me, tricked, thinking my legs are pollen. They spring away quickly at the stickiness.

Four Years Old

I remember standing in the front yard, marveled with my legs. I had pulled my yellow dress to the top of my thighs, slowly twisting my leg.
I looked up to see the old neighbor lady walking by with her cane on the sidewalk in front of me, cool in her summer whites. Her hair, the whitest shade of all.
I pushed a flip-flopped foot far forward. "My legs are so very long, dontcha think?" I asked her.
"Oh my, yes," she agreed. "They look very strong."
I smiled and said thank you watching as she slowly make her way up her driveway.

My little brother and I used to sit on the front porch of her pale green house. She would invite us over for bread and butter. It was always a welcomed treat, sitting quietly, eating around the pad of butter she would place in the middle of the white slice. How satisfying was the last bite of thick sweetness, clogging the mouth. It would long after leave it's after-taste and coating on our baby teeth.

I had never been in her house, until one day she was just not there anymore.
There was an Open House, endless amounts of people trailing in and out in the summer heat.
My brother and I finally worked up enough nerve to climb her front porch steps, ignoring our Mother's words to stay away.
The rooms were filled with flowered wall paper and hardwood floors. There was nothing else. I could not even detect a hint of smell.
We traveled upstairs.
Nothing was different there, either. Room after room of flowers.
Except the last bedroom.
It is a stark white and the happiest room of all.


AJ said…
Mmmm...white bread and butter. A simple pleasure.

A wonderful story.

jakethelad said…
Hey Q, thanks for reading my blog. This is so good! Reading each other and all the others. I am sucked in. This story helps me remember the nice things about being little. We had very few worries then, did we not? See you again soon on the blog waves!
Juner said…
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
cbeck said…
I bet you were still sexy.
Queenie said…
oh, baby, you know it! wink**


Popular posts from this blog


When I was in Ottawa, abandoned and enthralled,
breathing in the
heat waves shimmering off the people
and the cats
and that lazy raccoon that I later named Mondrian in my mind
after I saw my first one,
I did not look for you.
Nor in the malls, the halls,
the magazines, in the new towns,
or down the old roads,
on silver screens, between the book shelves, down on my knees
hands in the clover.
I took you for granted.
Oh hey.
There you are.

I know myself
Far, far, far more than I let on
I know what I am doing.

Love is such an easy word.
Besides, it's a given,
We can keep it there, easy, big, broad like the straight black painted lines, it's nice.
Effortless. Quiet. Assured.
So then, I guess that it is not the word.

Punks-Starting to Remember

Minnie is 14. She likes wearing bright red lipstick and getting high.
Right now, Tommy is arguing with her. "Vitto will be waiting for me then."
"He can wait longer," she tells him. "Tell him there was too many cops following you around or something."
"Yeah," Tommy says. "That might work. Vitto would believe that. Three different cops stopped me on the street this week."
"What?" Minnie almost shouted. "Oh, Tommy. They are on to you."
“No, they aren't."
But she knew. "For sure they are. Listen. Meet me outside the pool hall at 9:30. I'll havethe dope then, Tommy."
“No. I really should go see Vitto first.” He kisses her quickly on the forehead and then runs home to make himself some Kraft Dinner for supper.

When he walks in the front door, there is Momma with a bottle of whiskey tucked between her legs, her head rolled to the back of the couch, her mouth open.
"What the fuck, Momma?” Tomm…

Quiet Company

I've been sold, I've been sold, I've been sold, I'm being sold-out
It is torture but
I don't even care
Except to love you more, to love myself more
Those hot-burned tears for you as I rally to save my skin
wind down me and leave behind gold and green
and I don't stop looking
until I look upon you
What on earth...
I've been sold, I've been sold, I've been sold.
I'm being sold-out.

Sunlight filtering through cracks
in the sky
in the walls
fall across your skin
I fingerpaint across your chest
Every word
known to man
and found in you

Fresh snow
Our footprints mark us
You are here!
I am here!
We are here!
Turn your face upwards
Let falling snow rest on your eyelashes
(dream of me)
Let the white melt on your outstretched tongue

It's spring.
Just one word.

I'd sit across the hall
looking upwards until I saw the flicker; light on
Sit with you while your busy hands rolled over these plains, these fields
The stretches of nothing
(Look at…