My sister and I were talking the other day, as she was headed to a library book sale. She mentioned a book of short stories she'd seen and was thinking of buying.
I asked her if the stories were written by J. California Cooper. I'd once read a short story by J. C.C. that moved me so much, I photocopied it and mailed it (that's how long ago it was; no email) to almost every woman I knew.
I remember the act of doing that, but I couldn't for the life of me, remember the name of the story.
Oh well. We went on about our conversation.
Later in the night, my sister sends me a series of texts, 10 altogether. They turned out to be titles of J. California Cooper stories -- she was wondering if any of these were the title I was looking for. But because she sent them as stand-alone texts, with no context, and no explanation, I didn't pick up on that. Instead, in the 10 lines of texts, I somehow read a poem. And a darn good one. It's about an "independent woman" who felt like she "didn't need no man" -- and found out, too late, that she did.
Femme Fatale
Femme fatale
Do it yourself rainbows?
Living without a life
The way it is?
Living and learning
Sure is a shame
The bank of life
Yellow house road
Somebody for everybody?
A will and a way.
Do you see it?
My sister and I are so good, we accidentally made a poem! :-)
(I never did remember the name of that short story.)
(Also, I realized after I wrote this, that this particular post will probably only mean something to my sister and me. I'll try to be more mainstream with the next post.)
No comments:
Post a Comment