The shirt is too tight. Momma wants him to wear a tie, but he says no, no momma, I’m not wearing no tie, it’s like it’s choking me, momma. So she assents, and she looks him up and down, and she smiles ’cause he shines so bright in that navy blue suit and his black shirt. When he unbuttons that top clasp, it’s almost like he’s his daddy on stage. So momma touches his cheek and she kisses his forehead.
“Oh, baby,” she says, her eyes shimmering. “You’re gonna knock ’em dead.”
Most Recent Short Story
Momma, Published in Penumbric Speculative Fiction Magazine | Oct 2024
WORDS WRITTEN IN 2024
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