The Fox
You lay there, the early morning rays of sun catching in your hair, your eyes closed, serenity softening your features, and I think what a shame it all is. You have so much potential, but you’re hot-headed. Their words, not mine, after you botched the Collins job. By now, the poison should have worked its way through your respiratory system, clutching at your lungs with its sinewy fingers. You had no thoughts of deceit when I handed you the glass of merlot. You didn’t feel it make its furtive way into your bloodstream as we danced. All you saw was me when we removed our clothes. You stared into my eyes like you loved me, never suspecting a thing.
I guess that’s why they call me The Fox.
Uzuri Wilkerson
July 19, 2010
Playtime
I knew where he kept them—a shoebox tucked in the back corner of his closet. As soon as the car backed out of the driveway and disappeared around the corner, I rushed into my parents’ room. I pushed the clothes aside and carried the old Fila box to my room, locking the door behind me.
Familiar excitement crept along my spine. I opened the lid and pulled out the first magazine.
It was well-worn, the binding nearly non-existent after years of thumbing through, by my father and by me. I didn’t care. This one was my favorite. The woman, with her strawberry blonde hair and breasts set high on her chest, smirked seductively at me. I placed a hand on my own breast, small and round. I just got them last summer but they weren’t as ample as anyone would like. Jessie’s breasts were big like cantaloupes. The boys always stared.
“Don’t worry, Donna,” my mother would say. “Yours are perfect for you.”
I would slink away, not comforted in the least.
As my eyes grazed the naked women in the magazine, I became increasingly mesmerized. This was what men found attractive. Thin waists, blonde hair, shaved privates. My hair was brown, and I knew nothing about shaving, but I still stared, studying.
After a few more moments, I placed the magazines back in the box, and returned it to its hiding spot beside my father’s sneakers. Our shared secret. My mother would have a fit if she knew.
Uzuri Wilkerson
July 19, 2010
