Rated X for sex, drug use, graphic depictions of violence with blood and gore and all it’s wet and slippery trappings, and general horror.
The Lamentation of Their Women
by Kai Ashante Wilson
“Hello,” answered some whiteman. “Good morning! Could I speak with—?” He mispronounced her last name and didn’t abbreviate her first, as nobody who knew her would do.
“Who dis?” she repeated. “And what you calling about?”
“Young lady,” he said. “Can you please tell me whether Miss Jean-Louis is there or not. Will you just do that for me?” His tone all floured with whitepeople siddity, pan-fried in condescension.
But she could sit here and act dumb too. “Mmm . . . it’s hard to say. She be in and out, you know? Tell me who calling and what for and I’ll go check.”
Apparently, the man was Mr Blah D. Blah from the city agency that cleaned out Section 8 apartments when the leaseholder dropped dead. Guess whose evil Aunt Esther had died of a heart attack last Thursday on the B15 bus? And guess who was the last living Jean-Louis anywhere? (Continue Reading…)