http://slow.writerscafe.org/Missrtyler The original writings of author Rochelle Tyler en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775990499 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Early a May morningI set into flight my childrenoff the side of the Sellwood bridge.Two swan-dives down to the river bottom,my small dancers feather their limbslike wings. Their bodies allongéthrough the air, reach up for me. My little prince,I have deceived you. I, your mother.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/916888/ The half-turn of day floats the Pacificlike a buoy set ablaze.She fights the water like a fisherman's boatto stay afloatbefore the weight of evening's head drowns her round belly.Much like how the moon pulls the tideand penetrates the shore,the night strews his bulbs in her sky--shinelike a bil.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/634730/ I know my father meant well when he made me promise never to bring home a black man. He told me never, Never love a n****r! He spat out the word in front of me, as if it was spoiled milk he knew was bad but drank anyhow. Five years old, dressed in a Halloween costume we picked up from Party City, I .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/633983/ Your metal cage rattlesfrom the snarl in your throatI kick at your doorwhen you snap at my feetFrom the snarl in your throatyour brindle hairs crawl forwardWhen you snap at my feetyour chest heaves on the floorYour brindle hairs crawl forwardnear the scruff of your neckYour chest heaves on the floor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/627693/ I was the first girl in my grade schoolwho wore a bra- or at least who should have.In fifth grade, Aunt Renee bought me a 34-AI grew out of faster than I could shove itback into a bag. The boys in my class liked when I ranand my boobswould bob under my spaghetti straptank-top.Soon, I could no lo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/622874/ Herein a bed lies a woman. Last night's linens twinefrom breasts to feet where a husband's ankles would.There beside her is a man.His hips stack like hay baleson their sides and pressthe flat back of her thighs.If you were to ask this womanWho is this? She would replyWhy .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/617201/ I look at my mother hover over barbed-wired thorns of Floribundas and Tea Roses. Her knees and elbows wear mud like a uniform, each weed a prisoner of war in her debris bucket.  Her gardener gloves,five times larger than my fit,scoop in at the wristsbits of wood-ch.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/558660/ Across the street near the convenience store where we first noticed the peculiar man smiling with coffee-stained dentures who alwaysbuys his newspapers from Ron's brother down at the 7-11 on Bonita Street where last summer one car flipped over the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/494156/ The dressing room mirror peers from the walllike a mother-in-law, quick to highlight bad angles on my large hips. Robust thighscarry a half gallon's worth of Darigold around each leg; large curds dimplethe skin lMy mirror stands in the corner like an unavoidable mother-in-lawquick to highlight bad a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/480611/ "There was my name up in lights. I said 'God, sombody's made a mistake'. But there it was, in lights."                                &n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/470402/ I like them bronze-hair men with earth-speckle eyeswhose sand paper chins smooth my inner thighs.I like those long-length limbs whose curvesare wound with veins feeding in to shoulders.I like them button-size outies stretched on taught tummies whose crisp lines lay rows of criss-cross.I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/465931/  Natural Disaster She tremors like Mt. Saint Helens.Her hair falls to ash in tufts easier to pluckthan daffodils. Out of frame I watch with viewer'seyes her lava flow spill on to cities belowwith each new shift of plates beneath earth's mantle. My hands cra.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/462805/ If butter could talk, it would sound like him.His voice a melted cream on the tongueleaves a gloss in each bend and crease of my limbs like a basted hen.He tucks a bowl-shaped serving of fusili curlsbehind earswarmed pink with virgin olive oil swirls. But he can keep his pasta .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/459210/ I will try to enjoy this silence(the empty spaceswhich hold the air)climbing up and over used counter-topsfilling wooden cabinets. It serves the mostlonesome of company. And [After a while]I am confidentthat the room will grow quietand not agonize me lik.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/426940/ A day like this, Oh who am i to foolit's every day that's a day like this whenI want a man's loveand more.I want all his loveand I've got to be his only loveand I wonder how I ask for too muchwhen all I want is to be the firstnot only the firstI have to be the bestwoman he has ever love.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/424931/ It's more than I asked foror ever thought would evolvefrom subtle, microscopic'what-if'sto a love affiarover-fed from a surplus ofeyelash kissesplumply sitting in the skyeclipsing the sun.       http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/420374/  *As long as your blueprint remains etchedwithin the frameworks of my brain,like a million shards of broken glassembedded between the carpet,you will be the only existancebetween this pen and paper.*A bursting sun          .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/401784/ "You are a f*****g twelve year-old."I hung up before he could he finish.The both of us, children indeed. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/400957/ We have come to a pointin our conversations,where language means nothingand hardly love holds a purposeany longer. Yet I still struggle to find words,no matter how insignificant they areto our problems.Just anything I could say to possiblypush through this heavy annoyan.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/399714/ The most beautiful shape you can make with your lips Is one that has no lines To define, to intensify, it holds no ground Yet is strong and helps you speak to me In words that silk my fair skin into deep, deeper, deepest Denial of ever loving love so tender As it .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/399240/ Where we have lain:what an important piece of furniture.It was there upon our first meeting,and when we have reunited again.And again.            It holds the weight of our conscience,       &nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/399222/ He uses the tip of his fingerssoftly applying pressureand traces shapes of thingsonly his eyes can see.Strides clockwise,counterclockwise.Backtracking over a pattern always breaking-though flowing constantly.Five half crescent moonsform beneath the ends of hisfingers, pushi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/399212/ The world changed when I was away.I peek out from beneath my tightly wound scarf,exposing my cheeks to a strange light.The air is hushed.The sound of silence is so heavily weighted,it seems like it has existed an eternity.For a second,I do not feel the bite of winteras my ears ad.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/399210/ Reluctantly  I go through the motions      of turning my light offstalling beforehand      staring at my bed. Knowing only I       will occupy that space tonight. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/399197/ There must be a cold airthat fills the absent holewhere your heart once was.It helps me understandthe reasons you searchedfor warm bodies to lie next towhen my onewas not enough.But all the flesh in the worldcould not calm your chillsbecause you only collectedfrom me... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/399196/ I feel you restrictingmy insides,firm grasp around my gut,tying knots tighterthan air can pass through.Your presence hits mewith a forceso strong, slitheringbeneath my skin.Like venom,you take me under,numbing me from the heart down,as I lielimp in your arms..... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Missrtyler/399195/