Ice Cream
Years past since she knew the ice cream man, driving by on a Saturday afternoon.
In her innocence, drawing fake money on construction paper to buy the ice cream her Mama can't afford.
She didn't think about the world,
or poverty,
or laws,
or the market that had just crashed.
She just wanted that sweet red, white, and blue popsicle; and to get it?
She needed cash.
Summer’s Malady
Sunshine used to taste so sweet. I could lay back for hours in my backyard, listening for the crickets to let me know that the day was drawing to a close.
Freckles born from days in the sun were worn like badges in my family. My mama used to call them angel kisses. I would fight with my sister about how many kisses were littered across our little noses, and I would always win.
Even in rain, the sun would shine. Mama used to tell me stories about how she would spend her days chasing to the end of rainbows caused by those sun showers, looking for the gold that she thought was waiting at the end.
I find myself often missing rainbows.
I haven’t seen the sun in a while. I’m not exactly sure how long it’s been because without the sun, I’m not sure when the days begin and end.
Now, instead of mouthfuls of humid air and sweet sunshine, I wheeze in the musty air of the cramped room I’ve got myself held up in. We don’t have basements in Florida, being under sea level, so the best I could do was hole up in a tiny room at the back of my house with no windows.
A few weeks in and they told us that windows weren’t secure enough.
I didn’t believe it at first until my sister got sick.