top of page

Portfolio 

Welcome to my portfolio!

​

Below you will find a collection of pieces ranging from literary analysis to poetry. I hope you enjoy it!

Fountain Pen

Metamorphosis-Memoir 

    Mankind tends to have stages in life stages. We never stay in those stages for too long and often grow out of them, just like a caterpillar. We have infancy, early childhood, proteins, teenage years, adulthood, and aging. Whereas a caterpillar lives in a cycle going from an egg, larva, pupa, and then finally into an adult (butterfly). The two are similar, almost going hand-in-hand, but the concept of time and phases differs. 

 

    I remember my old family home in Markleysburg, Pennsylvania, where the winters seemed as though they were never-ending, and summers fast like a thirty-minute film. I couldn't have been more than twelve, enjoying being outdoors and being one with nature. Although this particular year was different than before. As a child, I loved bugs, but my mother feared for my safety by accidentally playing with a deadly bug. So to train me to stop playing bugs, she would pinch me on the back of my hand, whenever I would be going up until I stopped altogether. She terrified me of ever getting close to another bug. So when I saw a caterpillar crawling slowly inside my open window, I couldn't help but feel terrified. I was always told that bugs fear us more than we are of them, but at that moment, my beating heart was telling them otherwise. Even though I was terrified of bugs, I could never bring myself to kill them because I thought it would be considered murder. I decided to close my window, knowing that nature would either let the caterpillar live its life, or it would die, but I didn't want my hand to be a part of ending its life early. 

 

    Some time had passed and I lost thought about the bug living outside of my window. At the same time, while playing outside with my family, as if by chance, the tennis balls we had been playing with landed in the patch of flowers below the window. When I picked it up, I saw this white fuzzy green patch inches below my window on a brick and my family came over to see what I was staring intently on. Personally thought it was a spider. My mother said, “No spider should have a first-class ticket into the house," and they wanted to burn it without another thought.  It wasn't until my stepfather took a closer look to examine it to see it was not a spider's nest, but instead, a caterpillar that had lived its early life and was ready to transform into the following stages. I hated caterpillars or any type of bug for that matter.  I love butterflies, but I did not know that the two were one and the same. Like myself, this insect is transforming into the next stages of its life, just like I would be when I turn into my teen years.  It would take weeks for this caterpillar to completely transform into a butterfly, for me will take years to the next stages of my life. I would visit and watch to see if I could be the first to see a butterfly out of its cocoon. Of course, as any child would, I was having fun and missed the transformation. By the time I returned, I found the empty cocoon and I was sad that I didn't see the transformation.

    As if a sign was given to me, granted by the universe, I saw a butterfly flying around our porch one day after the butterfly had transformed. I thought about the caterpillar underneath my window, who had been undergoing this transformation. At first, the butterfly flew in front of my face for a few minutes as if it recognized me. That by simple decision alone, I wonder if this was the same bug. I was surprised, but then it sat on the flower on my yellow slippers I used to wear everywhere. The butterfly sat with me for a while before it flew off. I thought about all of the bugs that live in a smaller environment than we do, and about how our one decisions can impact the tiniest life. It was as if the universe was showing me, at that moment, this might have been the caterpillar, which I had spared despite my fear. I didn't realize it then, but looking at it now, the caterpillar reflected me. Only I wouldn't get a significant transformation to turn into something else, but in a sense, we are both growing older. It made me realize how fast life can pass you by and how easy it is to grow up. We cannot stop life because time waits for no man, woman, or bug. Some of us might make it and have an opportunity to live life; while some of us never make it into adulthood, just like a butterfly out of the cocoon. Now when I look at any butterfly, I reflect back on that period of my life. I use this one moment in time to make decisions in my life, and I think about all the outcomes that can happen such as the one that I experienced years ago. It helps me to think that there are so many possibilities in which I can transform my life, and the lives of those around me.

Ballads: Stereotype on Women-Essay

Introduction

​

Ballads, profound in their own right, are an inside view into the literature in early modern England. With their recognizable typeface, illustrations, and tune, broadside ballads were mass-produced on a large scale and were known by many. This simple form of media is the key to taking a deeper look into how ballads became so popular, the intentions of the illustrations that accompanied the words, and how they fit into society, along with how ballads affected the behavior of those people. This essay is not to argue for a side on the ballads but to discuss how illustrations in broadside ballads impose standards on people, more specifically women. Ballads on the rise

​

 Before we begin, we must ask where broadside ballads started and how they evolved into a popular form of literature. In Eric Nebeker’s The Heyday of the Broadside Ballad, it states, “Broadside ballads survive from the early sixteenth century right through the nineteenth century” (2007). That is nearly 300 years since these broadside ballads were in circulation in early modern England. So what about these parchment made circulate for so long, and were they able to connect to the people who use these ballads or recognize them in some way? We got our view to Figure 1 of the ballad A Caueat or VVarning. / For all sortes of Men both young and olde, to auoid the / Company of lewd and wicked Woemen. From the English Broadside Ballad Archive. Here we can see the spreadsheet of this ballad and of its illustrations. These ballads we’re simple with their decorative borders that we’re on both the recto and verso of a folio page, with black letter typeface (known today as Gothic) and columns, and they’re separate accompanied images for this ballad. Unlike other forms of writing in early literature, there is physically no value to these parchments, so who were the intended audience for these ballads? In Patricia Fumerton’s recent book, The Broadside Ballad in Early Modern England, she states, “Printers cut costs by using low-grade paper and ink, recycled type and woodcuts, and on-the-fly production even at the cost of letting typographical errors or smeared print slip by.” Fumerton later states, “Toward the end of the seventeenth century, the price dropped even further to half a penny” (page 21). This shows that these parchments were not made for an audience with the higher class but instead for the common people who could, if able, buy these ballads at the cost of the penny. These were not keepsakes for the common people to save because they were everywhere and spread from one person to the other.

 

Imposed standards on women.

​

 With ballads being centered at the cost of what the common people can afford, it brings the thought of how these ballads were circulated for people of this status and the intended message/morals I traveled along with them. In Kris McAbee and Jessica C. Murphy’s Ballad Creation and Circulation: Congers and Mongers, they state, “In the early seventeenth century, a royal patent limited the number of printers permitted to print broadside ballads; the writer’s finished ballad could be legally printed only by one of these printing houses (2007).” This makes it understandable, with the recirculation, how the illustrations were often associated with different ballots that were circulating turn this time in England. Exploring the English Broadside Ballad Archive’s woodcut images, we can see where illustrations used in one ballad could also be a representation of another woman in a separate ballad. Take Figure 2. A Lamentable Ballad of the Ladies Fall warning women not to be too trusting of men. This ballad’s illustrations depict women as naive for not using their wits to believe a man and his words of saying that he will marry her. In Markéta Holubová’s chapter Women in Broadside Ballads: Roles and Stereotypes, she states, “These topics shook and shocked contemporary society; but they also again in a mode of instruction provided authentic descriptions of both the positive and negative aspects of their supposed real life protagonists.” These publishers were drawing from real-life women, painting them a certain way in the words that were written in these ballots as well as associating them with the woodcut illustration used in more than one ballad. Even with the EBBA’s website, browsing through their advanced search woodcuts, there are women who were subjects in ballads, and there are keywords associated with the theme or the moral lessons of that poem. These are words used negatively, such as “trickery” or “deceit.” Also, in the archive, in its own category, there are over nine hundred ballads that have the keyword of “woman.” In looking at the woodcuts in some instances of those ballots, you can see the similarities in the way that the women overdressed. Without any context as to what is happening in some of these poems, these women appear to be well dressed, at least not in the way that a common person would be dressed come up more of a noble or royalty, but these poems that accompany tell a different story of that is being portrayed into the ballad. In A Caueat or VVarning. / For all sortes of Men both young and olde, to auoid the / Company of lewd and wicked Woemen, telling them and listening to the words of this ballad to not be tricked by a woman dressed in such nature. You’ve seen in the title of this ballad is the front woman dressed such as this to be “wicked” and “lewd.” With the purpose that these ballads are mass-produced all over England, the common knowledge of a woman from the illustrations alone, we’ll create the standard for women dressed such as the ones in the illustrations to be wicked. For the less alliterate readers, there is already an idea of the type of woman when they see in any poem with the same illustrations. Even if the tune of the ballad changes or even the poem itself changes, that viewpoint will remain. 

 

Ballads in society

​

With how much of a widespread ballad had in early modern England, it’s no surprise because they were so rooted in the English culture and of its people. Paxton Hehmeyer brings to light, “In short, ballads inhabited what Tessa Watt has called a “shared culture” of cheap print that reached across social and geographic boundaries in early modern England” Hehmeyer (2007). Ballads, in a way, worked in society as a way for people to connect with each other. Connecting in ways other forms of media this time were not as popular in doing. Ballads also fit into the norms of the people of England, it being in their traditions to sing these ballads orally. Transfer of information because these ballots were targeted at a common audience who were less literate; it was common practice to have these ballads shared from mouth to mouth. Whether that was hearing the tune and the words of this ballad in an alehouse or out on the streets of England, this proves how the ballad could bring the people of England together socially in having them have a social bond within their community and of people who were in similar class who could relate to the stories. It is interesting the way Hehmeyer brings another important discussion into the functions and purpose that ballots serve in this society “Ballads allowed their performers and listeners to inhabit new and different personas” (2007). Ballads not only served as a form of entertainment culturally in the lives of these people living in England but served as other functions to, as Hehmeyer says, were “useful information” to the people about topics such as politics. This was a way of getting political news to the people on a mass scale with how many ballads were being produced along with how many people, other than noblemen and royalty, of what was happening in England during that time. Fumerton speaks on the ballads serving in society as the capital to be marketed from. She states, Evidence strongly suggests that printers and publishers tried to anticipate their publics but that they also--or perhaps more accurately deliberately created many loose and ephemeral assemblages and sub-assemblages of the ballads’ media and personae in order to capture the widest market and allow consumers to exploit tactically the ballad experience to their own ends” (page 51). Here we can see an early sense of marketing from these publishers choosing which ballads they wanted to produce, knowing that they were intended messages that the audience would attach themselves to, and knowing that they could make a profit from it. In a way, ballads, and their correlation to the people of England working together in a cycle to benefit from each other, showing how an early form of literature impacted the economic status of print houses in England. To be able to study ballads is also to be able to study the people who made these ballads so well-known and popular in their time.

 

 

Reflection: My original thoughts behind this assignment was focused on a specific ballad that I could use that to center my paper on, but in further discussions led me to think and conduct my critical analysis on ballads in general instead. Doing this opened my research and it made me look elsewhere within the ballad category. With sources that I found on ballads showed me that they had the power to create a narrative, and I was intrigued to look more into this topic. Even looking in the EBBA, I found that there were particular words that were associated to ballads that discussed women. Having the thought in my mind that woodcuts where you reused in some instances, brought the idea that ballads could create stereotypes on the woman discussed within them. Conducting this critical analysis, I was in a good place, and I knew what I wanted to talk about. I chose this topic of ballads because I became fascinated with them and wanted to learn more about them. In doing this critical analysis allowed me to explore one step further so using a topic that I enjoy. I'm glad that I decided to focus on balance because I could pull different examples of ballads to discuss instead of trying to center a whole topic around one ballad.  I wanted this not to be persuasive in a way but to show how this could of course admirative on how an audience could view certain women because of what they’ve  associated an image with along with the ballad that's accompanied that short poem.

 

 

 

 

Statement: I Allecia Francis agree with Florida State University’s Honor policy and state that this is my own original work and have cited all sources appropriately.

 

 

Works Cited

McAbee, Kris, and Jessica  C.  Murphy. “Ballad Creation and Circulation: Congers and Mongers.” English Broadside Ballad Archive, 2007, https://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/page/ballad-creation--circulation.  

Nebeker, Eric. “The Heyday of the Broadside Ballad.” English Broadside Ballad Archive, 2007, https://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/page/heyday-of-the-broadside-ballad. 

“A Caueat or VVarning. / For All Sortes of Men Both Young and Olde, to Auoid the / Company of Lewd and Wicked Woemen.” English Broadside Ballad Archive, 1620. 

Hehmeyer, Paxton. “The Social Function of the Broadside Ballad; or, a New Medley of Readers.” English Broadside Ballad Archive, 2007, https://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/page/social-function-of-the-ballad. 

Holubová, Markéta, et al. “Roles and Stereotypes.” Amsterdam University Press, 2022, pp. 197–212. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctv3142vcz.14. Accessed 8 Apr. 2023. 

“A Lamentable Ballad of the Ladies Fall.” Ebba 20242 - UCSB English Broadside Ballad Archive, 1686, http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ballad/20242/citation.

 

​

Black Citizenship: Bound Under One Nation-Analysis 

In the United States, the nineteenth century was a crucial era because of its significance with changes and events that shaped a new outcome for African Americans, particularly in the path of citizenship. The speech "We Are All Bound Up Together" delivered by Frances E. W. Harper serves as a powerful articulation of the challenges, hopes, and strength of black individuals seeking recognition and equal rights. Not only did she have influence as an African American writer, lecturer, and abolitionist, Harper advocated for the rights and dignity of her fellow black citizens. In this essay, we will explore the concept of black citizenship in the 19th century, examine some of the barriers that blocked black individuals from full citizenship rights, and look at the efforts and ongoing struggles of African Americans as they navigate in a society that denied them equality for so long. With the help of historical speeches such as Harper's, we see African Americans pushed back at the mistreatment they have endured; citizenship is not something that America wanted to grant to African Americans in this country. In this essay, I argue that black citizenship was only granted because of the actions and dedication of these individuals who pushed back against the oppression that was placed on them for many centuries.

​

It is essential to look at the overall events that happened in the nineteenth century. In terms of black citizenship, the 1850s is when the tables begin to turn for African American individuals with the Dred Scott case. The end decision of a court case would go on to affect many African American individuals who were born free or paid for their freedom, who must worry about being dragged back into slavery. Linneaus P. Noble of The National Era stated, "Mr. Reverdy Johnson, one of the counsel for the defendant in the case of Dred Scott, in an elaborate speech before the Court on the 17th, argued that the Federal Constitution, never intended "to consider black men as citizens. This assumption will be maintained so long as slavery shall find supporters among our lawyers and politicians, and yet nothing is more certain than that it is unauthorized by the Constitution itself." (1856). No matter how hard these African American individuals work to gain their freedom or are born free, they will never be given the pleasure that a white individual is granted. Showing how hard this country is fighting against the advancement of African American individuals. It should also be mentioned not long ago, America was the one who started its own revolution to push back from being under England's control and to be its own independent country. They started being the country oppressed to continue these actions of oppression of the African American people from advancing. He later states, "They are what the common law terms native-born subjects. Subject and citizen are in a degree convertible terms, as applied to natives, and though the term 'citizen' seems to e appropriate to republican freemen, yet we are, equally with the inhabitants of other countries, subjects" (1856). What's worse than being viewed as less than a human, is to be viewed as a "subject" or a means to an end. There's no doubt that this decision caused a wave of questioning whether African Americans deserve to be recognized as citizens and given a chance to be able to vote and have rights. Two years prior, in a legal proceeding, The Frederick Douglass' paper states, "Any state may determine the statue of citizenship within her limits but the federal government can recognize none but white as people," and "I do maintain that if these northern states insist upon black citizenship there, they violate the constitution, and attempt to circumvent and indirectly destroy that intitution which is vital to us" (Frederick Douglass' Papers 1). This is another circumstance that shows why African American individuals wanted to stand up for themselves and be granted rights because these legislative acts/legal proceedings show that these white individuals only believe that they should help them when it is beneficial to them, and only them alone.

It is no wonder, with these inconsistencies within the United States, that the civil war followed almost a decade later. The major events such as the Civil War turned the tables as to why activists and abolitionists such as Francis Ellen Watkins Harper became active again for the rights of African American individuals. In her speech "We are all bound up together," she brilliantly addresses how most African American individuals would feel during this uncertainty about what would be ahead for them in the future. "Frances Ellen Watkins Harper gave this speech in 1866 at a women's convention" (Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, 1866.) Although she talks about struggles that African American particularly face, there are specific contexts in which her speech is a representation of the citizenship and writes that these individuals are willing to fight for. In Frances E. W. Harper's speech, she states, "We are all bound up together in one great bundle of humanity, and society cannot trample on the weakest and feeblest of its members without receiving the curse in its own soul" (Frances Ellen Watkins Harper 1866). This statement is impeccable because here we can see that she is not addressing just one race in the mixed audience that was listening to her give this speech at this time. She is addressing the entire nation; for it to recognize that we are all one people. We all might not look the same, but it does not mean that we are not equal to the same rights and equal opportunities that any other race should be granted. It was not long ago that the Civil War happened prior to the speech, which could be one of the consequences that she also talks about us being a curse for this nation because they have oppressed African Americans and not granted them what they wished for; to be recognized as citizens in this country. Another strong point in her argument is that "I think that like men they may be divided into three classes, the good, the bad, and the indifferent. The good would vote according to their convictions and principles; the bad, as dictated by preju[d]ice or malice; and the indifferent will vote on the strongest side of the question, with the winning party (Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, 1866). In terms of this classification that Frances E. W. Harper explained in her speech, do we ever see an unprejudiced in terms of citizenship for African Americans. Regardless of what the good or the bad man chooses, he is dictated by what will benefit him in the end. This quote also highlights the privilege that some men must be able to vote, even if that means continuing to vote on the side that causes oppression of these individuals. Another barrier that she discusses within the context of this page in regard to black citizenship is the racism that she faces. "Let me go to-morrow morning and take my seat in one of your street cars-I do not know that they will do it in New York, but they will in Philadelphia-and the conductor will put up his hand and stop the car rather than let me ride" (Frances Ellen Watkins Harper 1866). Showing how far these white individuals will go to prove to themselves that African Americans are not humans and don't deserve to travel amongst other way individuals. This is a point she highlighted within her speech, not only to African-Americans but to the white masses that were also gathered in the audience. All of these points are minor hints suggesting behaviors to which this country needs to open its eyes to, but there's one particular point in which she made that I think opens a lot of eyes to the neglect African Americans face when giving it their all. "It is when the nation, standing upon the threshold of a great peril, reached out its hands to a feebler race, and asked that race to help it, and when the peril was over, said, You are good enough for soldiers, but not good enough for citizens …." (Frances Ellen Watkins Harper 1866). America gave these African American individuals breadcrumbs, leading them to the path of joining the fight during the Civil War, to which many of them lost their lives to fight for the promise of their freedom. They were granted the opportunity to fight for this country, the only country to which they have ever known, in hopes that they would finally be recognized. Their efforts for this country were only recognized to fight to keep this as one great big nation, but it is that same nation that shut down these African American individuals after the war was over because they have done their part. Despite this, African Americans decided that this was not over and that there was a bigger piece and a long journey to what they believed paid off for all of their hard work and efforts.

​

It is the result of speeches such as "We are all bound up together," where African American individuals are able to be heard as a collective voice for what they all wanted and hoped to be granted what they worked so hard for. "Free blacks from their citizenship rights under attack in many places… Took a number of forms" (Diemer 111). Show me how many obstacles African Americans had no matter where they went because there were always places that pushed back, the reasoning being that they did not support black individuals gaining the right to citizenship. Andrew Diemer also states, "To advance the cause of black citizenship, or at the minimum to combat efforts to restrict existing citizenship rights, African Americans needed to navigate the training, waters of police and politics, building coalitions and cultivating white allies, wherever they could be found" (Diemer 111). This can also be related to Frances Ellen Watkins Harper's speech embodies. He is not speaking to those whom she wants to be an ally, but she is speaking to those who are willing to listen to what she has to say and will stand by her to speak up for the changes that this country needs. He also did not have to be an abolitionist or activist like her; that could include a mass audience of regular labor workers, teachers, and even the women who were fighting for their own rights. She was asking both men and women to recognize what was morally wrong with how this country treats African Americans and are willing to support their efforts.

​

It's not surprising that after probably one of the most significant Civil War this country has seen thus far that there would be an I'll pour of changes that followed. He states, "Few black men argue that woman should exercise political, right; most black women seem to have a greed, that the enfranchisement of black men who would represent images of food for the entire black community" (Foner 872). Eric Foner brings that point back around where there is a black mask that represents the entire community, such as what the We are all bound up together was the voice of other African American individuals who cannot speak. "We are all bound up together in one great bundle of humanity… curse in its own soul" (Frances, Ellen Watkins Harper 1866), one her most famous line derived from her speech. That African Americans African Americans are fighting a bigger war, but let's celebrate the small victory and a huge step for the black community. Of course, she not only wanted to be looked at as a citizen and as a black individual but also as a woman too. During this time of course, women, especially black women, were seen as less than their male counterparts of the race. But it is a result of this collective strength that we have seen throughout the nineteenth century why, even if it's only on behalf of black men, African Americans were one step closer to reaching that goal of citizenship for both men and women. Because of these efforts, the national archives state, "Passed by Congress June 13, 1866, and ratified July 9, 1868, the 14th amendment extended liberties and rights granted by the Bill of Rights to formerly enslaved people" (National Archives.) These African American individuals were legally recognized by the United States as citizens of this country and given legal rights within this newly written amendment. That also allowed these African American individuals to have protection under the law which gave them the right to act and behave the way white individuals with citizenship could. After so many years of this judicial system and governmental failures, this country it's finally taking these individuals seriously.

​

Millions of African Americans in this country are reaping the benefits and are able to live as citizens today in this country because of all the hard work that these brave individuals before us did. It is also why speeches such as Harper's "We are all bound up together," prove that one voice could be so powerful for an entire community. The speech not only highlights all of the wrongs that reflect in the speaker, life, and those African American individuals who are related to the speech but also opens the eyes of white and vegetables to be aware of the mistreatment that African Americans are enduring in this country. Not only represents a community who are growing weary of being oppressed for so long and not having a consistent document to protect them under the law, but it proves that African Americans can be active in voicing their opinions about what they want without always relying on a means of violence for others to start paying attention. We can study and use speeches like these to identify the importance of black citizenship and how it resulted in actions being taken because these individuals were no longer willing to be held down further. This speech also highlights how these individuals recognize that this is the only country they have ever known and that this nation is one under God. Without citizenship, this country will not benefit until all the people living in this nation are citizens united. 

​

Works Cited

“14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution: Civil Rights (1868).” National Archives and Records Administration, www.archives.gov/milestone-documents/14th-amendment#:~:text=Passed%20by%20Congress%20June%2013,Rights%20to%20formerly%20enslaved%20people. Accessed 18 June 2023.

Black Past, B. (2011, November 07). (1866) Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, “We Are All Bound Up Together”. BlackPast.org. https://www.blackpast.org/african-american-history/speeches-african-american-history/1866-frances-ellen-watkins-harper-we-are-all-bound-together/

“Citizenship.”  The National Era. 1856. Accessible Archives, Accessed 16 June 2023.

Diemer, Andrew K. “Black Citizenship and Reform.” University of Georgia Press, 2016, pp. 83–111. Free African Americans in the Mid-Atlantic Borderland, 1817–1863, http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt189ts0w.10. Accessed 18 June 2023.

“Extraordinary News from Utah. Judicial Charge against Polygamy--The U. S. Laws to Be Enforced.” New Orleans Daily Creole, 1856, p. 3. African American Newspapers, Accessed 16 June 2023. 

Foner, Eric. “Rights and the Constitution in Black Life during the Civil War and Reconstruction.” The Journal of American History, vol. 74, no. 3, 1987, pp. 863–883, https://doi.org/10.2307/1902157.

“Legislative Acts/Legal Proceedings.” Frederick Douglass’ Paper., 1854, p. [1]. African American Newspapers, Accessed 16 June 2023.

Ronnie's Diner - Short Story 

​

 

    Sam throws the towels over his shoulder after he loads the clean plates on the carts. The night is busy, and customers are slowly decreasing by the hour, except for the stragglers who wait until closing to leave. Every night the customers make it a habit of designing their leftovers on the table. The most memorable one was the tower of sugar cubes the diner had to toss out or the French fry fort. The bad days were the days when other kids his age would run out without paying or the time they put the money for the bill of their half-empty shakes. He walks around, sweeping the small trash underneath the tables and the chairs. 

    The bell chimes above the door at the front of the restaurant. "Welcome to Ronnie's, I'll be just a second." Sam finishes with the broom and puts it back into the supply closet. 

    He grabs his notepad and pen from his apron pocket, looking around for the customer who entered. At the corner booth by the diner window, he sees a menu upright, hiding the face of the person behind it. He knocks on the surface of the tables, and the menu lowers slowly. Sam wasn't sure what he expected the person behind the folded plastic to look like, but he never thought it would be Ophelia Clark. He looks down at her, trying to find the words to say but nothing comes to mind. Her eyes shine with the neon light above them, her arms now crossed, her left hand tapping the table. His eyes travel down her face, looking at the smeared mascara underneath her eyes. The bruise stared back at him on the corner of her mouth, freshly stained with dark red. 

    Ophelia clears her throat and Sam blinks for an eternity looking at her. Her hand moves from tapping on the table to the playing gold necklace hanging from her neck. "Are you going to take my order, or are you going to stare at me all night?" 

    "What? Right." He forgot where he was for a moment. He holds out his notepad, ready to write down her order. "What it be?" He tries not to look back at her, keeping his eyes on the blank paper.

    "Can I have a shake this late?" He wanted to tell a joke about milkshakes, but he decided to keep it to himself. 

    "Yeah, what kind?" Sam waits for her to reply, but she stays quiet. He looks up from the notepad to see her tracing her finger along the menu. The light reflects with the movement of her finger as she presses along the wrinkles. He follows her finger until it stops at the diner's special shakes. 

    "The Strawberry Arctic." Her voice spikes as she looks back up at him. "Can I also get a side of fries with that too." She hands him back the menu.

    "Sure thing Ophelia." Sam wanted to slap himself in the mouth for calling her name.             It's not like they know each other. Sam knew of her, but she probably wasn't aware that he existed. He covers his face as he puts the menu back in the front with the rest before he walks back to the kitchen to tell his Uncle Ronnie to whip up a batch of fries. Sam walks over to the shake machine to make her shake. He stares over to the booth where she sits as he holds the glass. Same watches as she rests her head on the table, swinging her legs underneath the table. Her black boots bounce after hitting the table's metal leg repeatedly. 

    A hard slap hits Sam on the back of his neck capturing his attention. "You're cleaning that up, dummy!" Ronnie turns Sam's head down to the floor at all the extra shake that had flowed to the floor. Sam didn't even feel the cold on his hand until his Uncle pointed it out. He takes the plate of fries from Ronnie's hand and puts it on the counter. He walks to Ophelia and places her order in from of her.

    "Thank you." He watches her mouth drink from the straw before she eats her fries.

    "You're welcome!" Sam walks away from the booth to clean up the mess he made.

 

 _____________________________

 

    The bell chimes over the front door, Sam can't help but glance to the door, hoping to see her fiery red hair, but he doesn't. He couldn't help thinking about her, even if she wasn't aware that he had a name. Yesterday night was the most Ophelia had spoken to him all year. He was happy with that, even if it was to talk about milkshakes and fries. 

    "Sammy, if you're not serving, then I will replace you." He picks up the coffee mug to give out refills to the customers. He knows his Uncle Ronnie could fire him, but that doesn't mean Sam doesn't appreciate the job. He could never repay his Uncle for all he's done since the accident. Ronnie was barely a man when he got custody of Sam, but he didn't care. Ronnie dropped out of architecture school to open the diner and has been working ever since. 

    Sam is in the middle of clearing off a table to clean when the bell goes off again. He continues to wipe down the wooden surface at the door closes. He slowly makes his way over to the table, eyes and hands ready to write down the order. A soft voice smooth as liquid gold speaks, and Sam's gaze looks away from his notepad. He can feel his palm getting sweaty, barely able to hold the pen in place, and his heart beating so loud Ophelia could hear it. She is out of her hoodie and back into her long t-shirt, and ripped blue jeans. Her hair was still red as the sunset, and her face was without makeup. He wanted to compliment her face but Ronnie told her to never say to a woman she looks good without makeup. It will only lead to more questions that will corner a man. Her bruised lip had been less noticeable since the first time she entered the diner. 

    "Another Strawberry Arctic?" Sam suggested since she didn't know what to order. 

    "Not in the mood for something sweet. How about a burger? What's today's special burger? She slides the menu away, placing her elbows on the table to look up at him. Sam could feel his knees going weak the more he looked into her velvet-brown eyes. He leans on the booth chair to help him keep his balance. 

    "We have the Firework Blast, but it extra spicy." Ophelia lifts her head when he mentions spicy. "If you want I can give you an alternative if spicy is not your thing." 

    "I love spicy foods!" She claps, and a few others turn. "I'll take that one." She hands him the menu, and he returns it with the others. 

    Sam rips the paper from the pad and clips it to the line before he walks through the double doors. He watches Ophelia from the open window. as she pours some sugar on the table from the jar. Sam watches as she begins to sort out each refined grain of sugar on the table. He watches her as he cleans off more tables, thinking she might be joking, but she is still at it thirty minutes later when he hands her the food with a shake. 

    "I didn't order this." Sam feels warm looking into her eyes once more.

    "I know. It's not the house." He slides the milkshake closer to her.

    "Thanks…" She leans forward to read his name tag. "Sam."

    Sam turns to see his Uncle and the other workers making faces at him through the window before he waves for them to stop. He looked back at her to see she was occupied with other things. 

***

 

    The diner now has more empty seats than customers as the evening shift is tonight. Sam makes his last round to clean off the tables. He tried not to let it get to him that a specific booth was still occupied by Ophelia, but he kept looking at her throughout the day. Sam rolls the cart to her table to pick up the dirty plate and the empty glass. Ophelia grabbed ahold of the back of Sam's shirt as he was about to leave. She hands him enough money to pay for the burger and milkshake. 

    "Sit for a second." Sam looked around to see if he was the person she wanted to sit beside her. She waits for him to sit across from her before she says anything. "What are you doing after work?" 

    "Nothing, really. Why?" She smiles for the first time genuinely. If he had a camera, he could take a picture of her smiling and stare at it for life. "I just have to wash up and close up before I can do anything."

    "I'll help." Even if he could use the help, Sam wonders why she is being so friendly with him in the back of his mind. Not that he didn't like their small talk, but she wouldn't just talk to someone like him. Someone with so many tragic events like the death of his parent years ago and being the sole survivor. The fact that the only friend he has is his Uncle or the fact that her type of crowd would push him down if they passed by. He watched her for a moment, looking into her eyes to see if he could sense any alternative motive, but he could only see the emptiness looking back.

    "Just wait here. I know a cool spot we could hang out in after I'm done." She nods, letting him get back to his job. 

    Sam had no problem doing all the cleanup; he usually complained to his Uncle about tonight. He has something to look forward to after his shift, and everything finishes quicker than any other night. Sam leaves the dishes last on the list, occasionally peeking through the kitchen window to see if Ophelia is still seated. Each time he glances out, he half expects to see her gone, but she is still sitting in the booth, waving at him one or two times they lock eyes. Sam drains the sink and rinses the extra soap before turning out the lights, taking some pie from the case. 

    "Let's go!" He calls out to her waiting for her at the entrance. He locks the doors before leading her to the back of the diner to the roof. She follows him hesitantly up the stairs looking confused at Sam. "Here." Sam opens two folded lawn chairs on the top of the diner and waits for her to sit.

    "I mean, I thought we were going to do something fun, but sitting in the darkness is cool, I guess." Sam picks up the radio from the crate beside him and sits it in front of them, fixing the antenna.

    "Just wait." The two sit silent when big screens switch across many of the drive-ins. Sam could feel his smile widen as Ophelia's eyes sparkled with the flashing images. She grabs ahold of his left hand pointing over a screen further out. 

    "That one looks like it's going to be a good movie!" He takes out the folded paper from the crate, and Ophelia shines her phone light to help find the right station for the screen. 

    Together the two sit in silence as the film plays before them. Sam had seen the movie more than once this month when he would sit on the diner roof when he had nothing else to do. Now, sitting here with her, this movie has a different meaning. She was having fun, and that is all that matters. 

    A loud crash causes Sam to open his eyes and look around. He had fallen asleep during the movie and looked to his left to see that Ophelia was gone. Sam checks the time to see it had been thirty minutes since he fell asleep, only remembering closing his eyes for a second. He feels cold as the wind blows by, and he switches off the radio. Only one screen remains bright as the cars leave the drive-in lot. 

    Sam leans on the side of the roof, watching all the cars leave and the lot become nothing but grass. He knew he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up, but he thought of how well they seemed to be getting along in the last two days. The credits roll on the screen as the movie ends. He watches in the dark as the children run around with the glow sticks, screaming as they chase each other.

    "Oh man. Is it over already!" He quickly turns to the winded voice at the steps. She leans over, holding large cups in her hands and a plastic bag hanging from her left elbow. His heart picks up again as he sees her in front of him.

    "Yeah. It ended a few minutes ago." She walks to him holding out a large to-go cup with slushy inside. "I knew I should have waited to go and get snacks, but I got hungry again." She takes a sip of her drink, looking at the empty drive-in with Sam. "You will tell me what happened in the end right?" 

    Sam nods, taking a drink of his cherry slushy, feeling proud that he has seen the movie enough times to tell her what happened. Sam sits smiling that the night doesn't end on a low note and he can spend more time with Ophelia.

Poetry

My father,

 

a man so tall I would call him, giant, a man who could be as strong as an ,

so serious yet could make you laugh when he plays football. My father, working until his shadow sets with the sun,
who tried to pass his love for music old reggae music, whose stories of Anansi would travel in the night.

My father, so cruel, his words became daggers,
who ignored the plea of a child,
who became a stranger after a while.
My father a man I should have been proud of,
Who let me down so much it became a habit.
My father, the idea that turned into a thought.
he never listened when his lungs were first clean from smoke. still a man returned to his old ways,

My father, surrounded with covering his face, Who sends messages saying I’m sorry.
never returning to my thoughts.
My father, then man I want to seek for advice,
In times when I’m wrong, tells me to think twice. My father a man I can no longer mention,

who soul lies dormant in another dimension,
My father who should have walked with down the aisle, a man who will never have seen his grandchild.
My father, so weak and alone in dark,
a man out of a second chances,
My father, made a prison for his sins,
who lies empty and alone free from his skin.

 

​

​

Poetry

Self-portrait as hair

What about today— how will she use me?
Will she grip tight, as if she is trying to hurt me,
or art me in sections, or put me up in a bun,
What about tomorrow— will she quench my thirst, or will she leave me brittle until I break?

What about the day after tomorrow—

My Father

Will she wash me clean, rinse with that special cup? If I’m good she might let me see the sun—
What about the weekend— will she pick a fight? Blame me when nothing feels right—

What will it be next week— will she try to be different? or this time, lock me away when my strands fly loose. What about the future—when she cuts me,
telling me it’s for my own good—

What flaw of me will she try to erase?
We are one, something free, wild, not meant to be tamed.

Poetry

River Mumma

 

It the end of the month when I saw her, combing her silky hair out of the water, the melody she sung was so sweet,
her skin golden, basked in sun,

but with the moon, she pulls you to edge, then devours you for her next meal—
In minutes she regains her youth,
For six days did I watch the cycle,

For her to vanish with the tidal— the final night, stranger than before, her velvet voice calling a new child, The boy steps deeper, sealing his fate

his legs, now replaced with fins, A pod of fishes, he joins—

I stepped back, breaking a branch,
Her gaze upon me, with nowhere to run. but, by some miracle, she swam away, Since that day, I never returned,
For the thought alone, gives me the shivers.

Poetry

That God Forsaken Bird,

​

the one mother thought was a good idea to buy from that guy on the corner of Seven-Eleven. It was cute at first, but more than anything,
I wish that bird would suddenly drop dead.

All it does is just sit there and repeats everything—
I mean you’d think the one creation God made,
with the ability to speak, could learn to be original. Instead, all it says is – You’re a disappointment June, or why can you be more like your brother?

It could also be that when it’s just me and the bird, home alone it decides to sing while I try to study—

then I must be the one to feed it when Mom works,
and it bites me when I put the bowl in the cage—
I think it would be nice to you Zach. Like google says animals can sense a person with good intentions,
but you don’t live home anymore, and I am stuck-
here for the next few years until a graduate.
If only Mama knew how I hate that bird,
but that stupid bird makes her happy,
and who wouldn’t want to see their Mom happy?
But shouldn’t my happiness come first?
Like the day that bird croaks, right Zach?
I know you feel the same way too right,
deep down I know you secretly hate it –
you always had that saying you live by remember,
That fate could use some one to push in the right,
direction, and we could be the ones to do push fate,
I mean if Mom ever found out you’d take the blame,
her prodigal son, the med-student.
We could leave the window open, say it flew off—
Mama would fall for that right, that it flew away,
Or give it an entire bottle of Coca-Cola.
You don’t think it would overdose, right?
Although they don’t make Coca-Cola like they used to. You know you hate to admit it, Zach, but I’m right.
But then again, I’m always right and you don’t say much, Not in the way is used to at least, if you were still here. Instead, I’m here talking to a cold, gray, stone slab.
because it’s the only way I can confess how I really feel. You’re the only one who listens, a person who won’t judge. If only you were here, maybe Mama would listen to you...

Poetry

God,

Forgive me—
Not because I have done the unthinkable, but these days, just rather seem so long. I can’t seem to find meaning anymore. My family tells me it’s because I haven’t been to church— but I really want to tell them that going to church can’t fix all my mundane problems. All that place ever taught me was to listen and obey the word of God, but why am I to believe a text, a text, whose very scriptures as so many different version—versions meant to control the minds of the lesser man. All I have are questions, then I have answers. Church can’t tell me why I have this feeling that I don’t belong, why I can’t feel reassured in my faith as others, why the loneliness feels better than being in a crowded room— with people who don’t even know that sometimes I wish I didn’t exist at all. I think of all the people in my life I wouldn’t hear laugh anymore, or the never- ending nag of my family— telling me that suicide is first-class, one-way ticket to hell. So, I drown these thoughts in music, but even that starts becoming numb after a while. Thinking about the time I got baptized, thinking that it will be my way to get close to you, only to be told that I didn’t get that feeling others did. You know, the one where your soul feels like it’s been washed

clean, but what does the soul feel like? Can you tell me? Was the reason I felt that way was because my fate was already decided? To work so hard for that eye opening feeling, only for it to slip through my fingers, like griping on to the falling sand. I want to talk with somebody, other than You, but sometimes, my only option. Not that I’m saying I don’t believe, but a voice talking back to me just seems a little crazy right now— I can’t tell my mother, because she might feel like a failure, and I can’t handle guilt right now. She says only crazy people talk to shrinks—so for now, I’ll confess my thoughts to You, in hopes that is what it means to walk by faith, but, if it means my faith is hanging by a thread, then so help me God, I’ll hang on for dear life.

Amen.

Poetry

How be at a party.

​

To be at a party is to:

  1. Make sure not to not talk too much! You don’t want them to think you have an

    opinion.

  2. Laugh at funny jokes even if you don’t understand them. That way you’re not

    standing stiff as a tin man from Oz.

  3. Keep your attention bouncing through the conversation. They might think you are

    interested, even when you have no clue about the stock market or football.

  4. Smile, but not too much, they might think your self-centered. Make sure not to smile too little, we can’t have men blaming your period. God knows they blame everything

    else on it.

  5. Walk around the room and engage in other conversations. So other girlies don’t start

    whispering about how much of a pick-me you are hogging up the men.

  6. Remember the drink in your hand is not for show. Take a sip on occasion.

  7. Don’t run to the bathroom when you want an out. All you do is scroll on social

    media.

  8. Use liquid courage to give you inspiration. If anything, outrageous happens tonight,

    you can always have something to blame. That doesn’t include murder of course.

  9. Look over the body one final time, but if you have puke, do it away from the crime

    scene.

10. Keep your tears at bay, he had it coming. All you did was defend yourself.

  1. Slip back to the back door, if you enter from the front, they’ll see you.

  2. Keep the bloody heels in your purse. If anyone asks, tell them your feet started

    hurting.

  3. Check all the stalls before you wash your heels. Close the door behind you.

    Remember, no witnesses.

  4. Wipe all specs of blood from your body too small for anyone else to see. Throw the

    napkins in the toilet to flush, not the trash.

  5. Fix your make-up and put your heels back on before going back to the party.

  6. Be the one that starts a conversation for once, try not to slip up.

  7. Stay away from corners, you’ll need witnesses when the police ask questions. The

    more the better.

  8. Don’t panic when the old woman begins to ask where that dirty bastard she calls a

    husband is. Avoid her, you’re a terrible liar.

  9. Only go to the bathroom if you must go. While you’re in there freshen up, and make

    sure you don’t have the eyes of a killer. Spray perfume once it’s worn off. That way, others might think about you when the party is over. Exit with small smile on your face.

  10. Go home and hop in the shower. Put the dress and shoes in a bag, hide them in the back of your closet.

  11. Sit on the couch and flip through the local news. If nothing is on by 1 am, go to bed.

Poetry

How we ended

​

Those chocolate eyes stare back across the room, and my heart beats a thousand miles per second.
I want to step closer, but I’m too stubborn to move so, I stay at the bar drowning out the music
to the conversation I’m not listening to,

and wave and devilish smile to match your eyes, and I wonder if you remember how we ended. Both of us saying some things we shouldn’t have and glass shattering all over the apartment floor. You, holding on to my bags so I couldn’t leave, me trying to move you, failing miserably.

Us fighting so much even our friends start to notice, now only invite us out on separate occasions —

and I knew I deserved better, but you were like a drug and I was addicted so much that it didn’t scare me the way you punched the wall an inch from my face, a memory is just that, and we are no longer together. I wave back seeing no reason we can’t be cordial, turning back to the bar looking at the blue wall light.

Other Media

Here are links to other aside have worked on besides writing. 

https://mariwachiband.wixsite.com/website

https://alleciaafrancis.wixsite.com/website

© 2021 by Allecia. Powered by Wix

bottom of page