(I like these as short pieces)


Wanted to get emancipated when I was 16 years old.  broke into my neighbor’s house more than once. First time I climbed over the fence to steal a pair of blue jeans that were hanging out to dry. They were designer, something I couldn’t afford. I brought the jeans into my room. They were really small but I had been doing crystal meth so I was skinny. I laid on the bed and squeezed my stomach in as hard as I could. I slid my feet and legs through the jeans and pulled on the zipper until my fingers were puffy, dented and blistered from the metal.

Next time a friend jumps the fence with me, we go in the back door which is unlocked. A red beam of light shines at foot level across the living room carpet. There is no alarm in the kitchen. We helped ourselves to a bowl of cereal. We fantasize about why they have an alarm in the living room only; we think they have a stash.  

It’s late at night and I’m walking down the boulevard. I’m in San Diego barefoot. I meander into a campground for permanent residents. I stop at a camp with a fire burning and help a man polish necklaces until the smell of brasso has permeated into my skin and my hands are black. I swim back out to the boat I’m squatting on, I tear the boat apart looking for something hidden then I spray paint all the windows black.  My Dad lives in a cabin in New Hampshire. We were seeing Jersey Boys, after the show empty plastic bottles found their way into my Dad’s backpack he’s a hoarder, it scares me every day. His cabin may be condemned.

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About Dirty Laundry Blog

Thoughts on Motherhood Through the Eyes of an Artist