My Cardboard Balcony

Monday Appointment by Belinda Roddie Cinnamon mints and sticky fingerprints on your collarbone in the summer heat make the air taste so sweet, and the beat of my heart is as uncoordinated as the sad attempts at modern art, dissipated into silence at the sound of your breathing, your hands weaving into spider webs in my hair. Grab a beer from the fridge, wipe the sweat from your sneer, kiss me twice before I ask you to, kiss me again before I dismiss you.

They took all of her jewelry, and all of her fancy gowns. They doled the goods out among them, covered their puckered skin in faux diamonds and rubies, stones that lacked value but made up for it in gaudy sheen. The sequins buried themselves into their flabby flanks as they danced around the room, giggling and snorting and holding hands. Seeing all four of the sisters have the time of their lives should have made me happy, but on all of their ruddy, round faces, I saw my mother's eyes glaring right at me, burning a hole into my crystalline soul.