LJMcD Communications, July 2024
Ghosts
A ghost of memory from the depths
drinking cokes and talking boys
our laughter echoes in the empty apartment
An old table in the kitchen
next to a window with no screen
The wooden frame chipped; we slide it open
fingers evading splinters
Bathroom across the broken floor
Mom down the dark staircase
our measured breath in challenges made
sparkling eyes itch to leave
one leg through the window
Air on our faces, birdsong in trees
leaves rustle two feet away
stomachs quiver from the rush of height
shingles melt beneath our feet
How did we get down?
Ghosts of memories have no answers
Carlos and Charo
Carlos and Charo played flamenco
Guitars ringing, their fingers rolling
my mother watched in rapt attention
her head nodding and both feet tapping.
Led onto the stage on his wife’s arm
Carlos and Charo played flamenco
Frail of body, his hands a young man’s
my mom adored Carlos’ music.
“Cuchi-cuchi” made Charo famous
in the States, her adopted homeland
Carlos and Charo played flamenco
but Mom admired her innate talent.
My mother used a butter-knife-slide
her old guitar in the key of G
sang tributes to musical heroes
Carlos and Charo played flamenco.
Double-Take
There’s a guy named Francoise who goes looking for doubles. Everyone has at least one. Francoise travels the world to find strangers who look alike, then photographs them. I’ve seen his pictures on the internet; they’re uncanny. As a child, I was called Little Judy because I looked so much like my mother. When I was a young woman, people said I looked enough like Elizabeth Montgomery I could be her double. With her long blonde hair swept back over her forehead and cute trim figure, I was flattered. I tried twitching my nose, but nothing happened. I imagined myself as Sabrina, Samantha’s sultry, dark-haired cousin. She wasn’t tied down to a mere mortal in a suburban neighborhood. Sabrina had more fun. I found myself powerless with spells and marriages that failed. As I grew older, strangers began saying I reminded them of Kathy Bates. The first time I heard this, I knew I’d crossed some invisible threshold of beauty. I love Kathy; she’s a great actor, but she and Elizabeth don’t occupy the same realm. I spent the next ten years learning how to survive in Kathy’s world. Now, I see my mother in the mirror more every day. Elizabeth long ago faded; Kathy is still in my smile, but my mother lives in my eyes and chin. I’m becoming Judy.
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Mona Mehas (she/her) writes about growing up poor, accumulating grief, and the climate from the perspective of a retired, disabled teacher in Indiana. Her work has appeared in over forty journals, anthologies, and online museums. Mona’s pamphlet Questions I Didn’t Know I’d Asked is available from LJMcD Communications. She is a Trekkie and enjoys watching Star Trek shows and movies in chronological order.
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