These are times when one must change one’s story, or at least take a different look at it.
Perhaps this is a story of bondage: the power of one narcissist over another.
In this case, reflections become real or shatter.
Loleeta writes; “In my eyes are mirrors of mirrors. Each is a tiny square flecked with saliva and toothpaste. These mirrors drain my soul.”
How many lovers pretend they will die for Loleeta Morales?
How often will she die for herself?
She of the double binds and rivers of neediness.
The truth of the matter erupts on her tongue: the slave’s shackle is guilt.
These are the rhythms in the life of Loleeta Morales.
She scrapes and shuffles and says, “There but for the grace of God,” and finds herself there.
Loleeta decides to die from compassion, so much nobler than greed and self-loathing.
She is the New Puritan who has received the holy message of moral cleanliness.
Yesterday’s stud is today’s carrier: so Loleeta gets carried away.
She writes; “Now is the time when I, Loleeta Morales, must give myself to the primal force that beckons us all. I should like to deliver my eulogy, since no one can know how good I truly was.
I was a smart girl. I respected science. I felt that the Constitution of the United States was worth reading. I also felt that food was something I had a right to since the mechanism of hunger was also mine.
Let it be said at my funeral that I was always one of the others.”
RG (c) 2015