Little Boats that Sail Me to You

They bring in a boombox like a weapon to send us away. Speakers shout out ugly songs, more obnoxious than loud Hawaiian shirts. A twisted face. A gruff voice. Arms crossed. Cigarette smoke clouds our space. Beer swirls with chlorine. Eyes glaze over like frosted glass...

Grace in the Grocery

I have squeezed his shoulder with the Vulcan death grip. I have growled low and almost yelled out “I am Mommy, hear me roar!” I have stared him down and let him know not to cross me. All this in the middle of the grocery. He sits next to his little sister, too close...