on the subway

1 in 6-

it’s a hot, muggy day.

the backs of my legs stick to the plastic seat

    of the subway car,

        and i’ve already got my earbuds in to drown out the

    world.

    time to decompress,

        to take a breath,

            before i have to get off the train.

but i can’t drown you out.

1 in 6-

you get on shouting,

    laughing like a maniac. you sit, but jump up

        almost immediately

    and move to take the open seat behind me.

        you bang on the poles,

            the back of the seat, lurching back and forth.

1 in 6-

you’re probably drunk,

    maybe high.

        you scream-laugh right in my ear,

    and i flinch,

        not even turning to make eye contact,

            but it’s enough.

    a mistake.

1 in 6-

you lunge forward suddenly,

    pressing your mouth

        to the back of my head. it’s barely a second of contact but 

            i feel my soul cringe. 

    you spring out of your seat

        and slam down next to me.

        you lean in, demanding to see my phone.

hey baby-

    you put your hand on my thigh

-you got a boyfriend baby?

    and i stare down at my knees until you get up again.

1 in 6-

but you’re not finished with me yet.

    LOOK AT ME BABY you scream

        LIGHT-SKIN LOOK AT ME

            I SAID LOOK AT ME YOU WHITE BITCH

                HEY LIGHT-SKIN

    and then you abandon speech altogether and just shriek.

1 in 6-

i refuse to look up.

    i fiddle with my phone, earbuds still in,

        a singer crooning in my ear about

            how crazy-making love is,

        and you’re still screaming at me.

1 in 6-

my mouth contorts in a grimace.

    you probably thought it was a smile.

        you laugh,

    the sound grates on my spine.

    we’re at your stop and a policeman is standing on the platform.

am i brave enough?

    my jackhammer heart beats me back down,

        my brain won’t move my numb limbs,

            all its neurons are pumping one thought

1 in 6-

    1 in 6-

        1 in 6-

1 in 6 women will be raped in her lifetime

Fried Chicken and a Prayer

"I've gotta go to Grandy's," Dad said, checking his phone just as we were sitting down to a cup of tea. "You remember my pastor, Felix? His wife Miriam is dying. I need to bring them dinner."

It had been a couple of years since I'd seen him, but I remembered Felix fondly. I volunteered to go with Dad to pick up the food. It was just after Christmas.

It was already late in the evening, time for us to think about getting our own dinner, and as we prepared to leave the island, Dad said, "Maybe I should just stop at Southern Soul and get some barbecue since it's closer." But the place was packed when we passed it, and he abandoned the idea, saying, "No good. Tonight's a night for comfort food."

We drove onto the mainland and picked up a 10-piece chicken dinner, complete with sides of green beans, corn, mashed potatoes and gravy, and, of course, fresh rolls. As we were checking out, Dad added a box of the large, glazed "sinnamon rolls" that I always looked forward to during Grandy's trips as a child. "They'll like these for breakfast in the morning."

When we arrived at Felix's house on the island, we were greeted by his son Ken, daughter Kim and his three sweet dogs. Felix was on the phone, but motioned for us to stay. "Do you want to see her?" Kim asked, and she led us back where Miriam was sleeping. She filled us in on the details, how wonderful the hospice nurse was, letting us know that while her mother wasn't very responsive, she was aware we were there.

"She looks great!" Dad exclaimed softly. She looked peaceful. Dad stroked her forehead gently while Kim and Ken chatted. She opened her eyes and looked up when Dad bent down to give her a kiss. "She's my sage mentor," he said, smiling.

We went back to see Felix, who pulled me into a hug. I hadn't seen him in a couple of years, but he's the kind of person who will hug your neck no matter how long it's been.

"Do you remember how we met? It was in that parking lot at Books-A-Million. We were talking about how much we both love literature!"

Felix knows I'm discerning God's call to ministry, and he asked how that was going. After I filled him in, he said, "I know it's a process and a long road, but I know you're going to be wonderful. Whatever work you do, God is going to bless your ministry."

He and Dad started talking about the funeral. "I don't have the peace now, but I will have it when I need it," he told us. He asked Dad to give the benediction. I petted the dogs while Felix told the story of how he and Miriam met when they were just sixteen. It was an easy conversation, and there were plenty of laughs and smiles that the family needed, just like they needed fried chicken, in a time of impending loss.

More family soon arrived, and we decided to go find our own dinner. As we were leaving, Felix pulled me into another hug and said, "I'm so proud of you, and so's your dad."

"You can always bring food," Dad told me once. I can't say much for his cooking skills, but that's okay. He knows the fried chicken will never go unappreciated in a stream of casseroles.

Miriam died a couple of days later. After the funeral, I asked Dad how it went, what he said for the benediction.

"Well, all the stories I could have told about her had already been told, so I just kept it simple and said a prayer. But that's all that was needed."