“Gladys was a hefty Puerto Rican” by Julia at her desk

Monday October 7, 2019
5 minutes
Anything For Love
Ruth L. Schwartz

In this dress she wore, she swore she
would not conform to the pressure of
being beautiful like this or that as
if some magazine might be the deciding

Gladys in her big swooshy dress, covering
the curves and equalizing the line that
leads her all the way down to the floor
and back up again. She stood tall.
She wore the bright pink like a medallion
to ward off the evil eye.
The evil kind of eye that keeps a person

My baby, Indie used to hide underneath it
and count the love on her kneecaps with
slobbery kisses and giggles.
Gladys let her and only her go under,
see what was beneath the fabric.
She liked the love adding up on the
tongue of two year old on a mission.

This is the way she felt beautiful.

When Gladys came by the house she would
bring us cookies baked from scratch,
her own personal recipe and tell us
if we didn’t eat them she would eat
them and what kind of friends let friends
lose track of fallen crumbs.

“Thunderbird” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Monday September 29, 2014
5 minutes
Jess’ imagineNATIVE tote

He was a Thunderbird, at least that’s what his brother called him. “Hey, Thunderbird! Get down here – waffles are on the table!” “Hey, Thunderbird! Open your damn door, I need to ask you something!” “Thunderbird! Don’t be an asshole!” He didn’t think anything of it until Rosemary, his biology buddy, came over to work on their project on starfish. She had freckles like he’d never seen, some of them connecting to make one big freckle, right on her nose. He wanted to touch them, to see if they felt different than regular skin, but he didn’t dare. She was like an eleven year old Charlton Heston, and he didn’t want to get shot. “Why does your brother call you “Thunderbird”?” She asked, wrinkling that nose. He didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know why. He was quiet. “Let’s make our model today, I’m tired of writing,” he said.