The Birth of Big Momma

Hazy, a jug of red wine on the table
in front of her, the girl is a mountain
of flesh at the head of the rough
hewn table. Draped in a patchwork

over another skirt over jeans, she pulls
on a wig, another layer, and a voice
from her childhood, an accent, a lilt,

a turn of phrase, a wig, gruff words
long pulls from the jug. The person
she puts on fits her body better
than the one she had before.

Lean, languid, bones protruding
from beneath skin, her friends
are scattered about the room
and respond to this change
like hungry chicks to a mother

hen. Before, she was there,
an immovable obstacle, but then
the wig, the voice, the jerking
motions of jug to lips and its hollow
slam against the table. They
would follow her every order.
They had found a home. She
found connection.


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3 responses to “The Birth of Big Momma

  1. An interesting narrative, great character development. I like the emotional exploration of the persona.

  2. Oh this is really, really good, so well done and it sounds fabulous, great rhythm too.

  3. kateroo

    Aight woman. it’s time. I’m finally getting up the nerve to submit my creations. You need to get published.

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