Purple rain pouring sunset storm hailstones of nostalgia- icy, passionate, fierce- Four decades of wind damage pummeling my teenage self Chocolate kiss eyes taking in the big screen- Minneapolis, 1985- pre-mistakes cozy if not warm The Prince was just a kid Everything behind her was safe everything in front of her was planned out like a TripTik Salty drops of confusion fall from those eyes as she learns her full glass shattered shards falling to the river washing away all she knew Cotton candy heart weaned on romance novels and soap operas turned to wool then wood, finally steel by man after man who was only there when she didn’t need him Soft, fresh skin mottled from fluorescent sun wrinkled from overthinking and determined laughter She recognized her caramel kiss birthmark and the chaotic curls that had finally grown long Round face and once athletic body now rotten with childbirth and chair borne illness were foreigners on familiar soil There was no mistaking the look of pity, compassion, forgiveness I rocked her as I unfolded the story of our sister’s death and hushed her when the spasms of loss tried to escape incarceration from the prison for emotions I told her to build as soon as she could Soggy tissue pressing my palm popcorn on her breath she leans close and whispers ”who is sitting next to us?” We turn to look - my teenage daughter’s musician hands strumming the air entire body humming along completely immersed in my youth Peering around lush freckles, Hazel eyes flicker to me seeing the person I was before my sister jumped seeing the person I was before her sister made me mom seeing my spirit no mistaking pity, compassion, love Credits rolling unfurling all those decades my daughter all innocence and obsessions asking if we could see the sequel my teenage self told her not to bother “listen to the music, write your own script” In that moment, my teenage self and my teenage daughter became the friend they both desperately needed We all held hands on the drive home thunder on bass wipers on rhythm raindrops on keys listening to the music all around us writing our own scripts
True story: I used to mow the lawn of the drummer for Prince. I lived in MN and I went to their church. Dez Dickerson. I cleaned up dog crap and mowed the lawn. His wife wasn’t very nice but he was awesome. His house had a ton of prince memorabilia. I think they divorced.
I love everything about this piece and especially the teenage self and the teenage daughter finding each other….and the last stanza too! So, so beautiful and hopeful.
True story: I used to mow the lawn of the drummer for Prince. I lived in MN and I went to their church. Dez Dickerson. I cleaned up dog crap and mowed the lawn. His wife wasn’t very nice but he was awesome. His house had a ton of prince memorabilia. I think they divorced.
I love to meet other Minnesotans; how cool!
This is what is sounds like........................wait for it.
When Doves Cry. Lovely piece of work!
Thank you for your help and input!
I love everything about this piece and especially the teenage self and the teenage daughter finding each other….and the last stanza too! So, so beautiful and hopeful.