My Cardboard Balcony

California Is Burning by Belinda Roddie The old man with brown satin skin played the marimba until the cops shooed him away (at least they shooed him and didn't shoot him). I had loved the rhythm and intonations, like I was back on my home island, the waves kissing my ankles as tenderly as a forlorn lover consuming too much salt. Bloated, tired, I slept now under dead oaks, smoking skies, and warmer yesterdays.

I Condemn White Supremacists by Belinda Roddie It's not hard to condemn white supremacists. It's really not.

Delicate Days by Belinda Roddie If I hold hope like a warm firefly gently cupped in my hands, perhaps its glow will linger long enough to blend with the sunrise.

What A Clusterfuck by Belinda Roddie I did not want this circus or elect this clown.

Yom Kippur by Belinda Roddie I ask for forgiveness while also trying to forgive myself.

That's A Nazi by Belinda Roddie Didn't have the mustache, but he sure acted like Hitler.

by Belinda Roddie "It's been quite some time since I heard music like that!" "Huh?" "The song you're listening to! I can hear it from your earbuds across the room. It's what the kids call a banger these days, no?" "Granny, please stop trying to be cool." "Oh, Branson - I don't have to try! Now, who's the band?" "Uh...they're not really that well known." "Please, honey. I've been to my fair share of underground punk and metal concerts!" "Granny." "It's true! I was always in the mosh pit." "Why am I not surprised...uh, they're called Switchblade. They're a local band." "Oh, my! Switchblade. Not a bad name, if I do say so myself." "Uh-huh." "You know any of the band members?" "Nah. My friends do, though." "Oh, how charming. I was very familiar with members of bands I listened to back in the day." ...