Fancy That
For this she thanks God, your sister, little wonder. Little mercy, ten fingers, ten toes. In sin we learn to count again. How many messes made at another's expense. "How much does an abortion cost?" you asked back then. But she's new now. And how many? Like, a girl never tells her age. She might have said Fuck You, but you told her it's something you'd never know. Not without a phone call. Baby's on hold; it's called sleeping. "And what did you name him?" "Her." Then the baby cries. "What did you name her?" Fancy. All the love you'll ever need.
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Author's Note
Another off-take from the 52/250.
Other stories by Elizabeth J. Colen
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I am not sure I completely understand this piece but I really like something about it.
I'm with Kaitlyn. Confusing, but the good kind of confusing, the surprising, woah-that-was-cool kind.
This is lyrical without being suffocating, succinct without being too short. A story wrapped around a story wrapped around a story, like some crazy Escher painting. Real nice.
this reads like the poetry of a bad dream. I love this. It is tiny like a little ball of a baby. Somehow it feels just right.
Thanks everybody. I have an idea to continue with the same two characters from the first 52/250 story - this is one in which they visit one of the main characters' sister who has just given birth (after several past abortions). "The poetry of a bad dream," indeed. This could probably describe most of my poetry.
I love this poem - counting, adding up costs to life to health to sanity.
But in the end, it all equalled wonder, love - fancy that indeed!
Well done, Elizabeth.
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