My Cardboard Balcony

Cleansed by Belinda Roddie They took a shower together, stripping their skin of sins, and then slept on the sectional because the bed felt too warm and too inviting. After several dreams of self-flagellation, they woke to sunlight and trilling birds, a humming heater and the roar of garbage trucks outside. When they walked into the cold air together, all the trauma stung them once again, like frost upon quivering clover. And it was off to the hot steam once more.

Backyard Basking by Belinda Roddie Hot cocoa and a red velvet doughnut outside? Yes, please.

Instead of the usual introspection or throwaway guttural noises in textual form, allow me to share an observation: When I look at the stretch marks on my belly, and I have gained some weight during the pandemic, they sort of look like two hands both flipping the bird in an abstract way. Because fuck your beauty standards. Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Autofill (Again) by Belinda Roddie I can't believe you've done this. I can't imagine a world with you gone. I can't comprehend anything. I can't explain how I'm feeling. I can't tell you why. I can't say goodbye to say. I can't think straight. I can't I can't I can't

Remember This by Belinda Roddie Black history is not just one month. It's all year.

When We Were Younger by Belinda Roddie When we were younger, we sat on the hill just outside town, drinking ourselves, hand in hand by sundown, eyes as red as pills, we told the stories of ancestors grand and heritage so lofty that we thought, truly, that we were royalty. That was not quite the case, but six packs that we bought with stolen money gave us quite the buzz and made us strut about like kings, all bright with love, yet dim with burdens, and as hot steam dissipated, so did appetite, and our hunger for glory was soon caught in webs of obligations. While still young, we haven't quite got stories on our tongues.

Bliss by Belinda Roddie When your tea's the perfect temperature on the first sip.