OK... not quite prose poetry, perhaps... rather more an attempt at micro-fiction... but who's to say where the boundaries lie?! :)) Inspired by the theme of a song. LOL K xx
SEX IN THE MORNING
Or was it six in the morning?
She could scarcely remember any more. Or care. Having downed her first cider and black of the day, she was already half-anaesthetised as the early train rattled and swayed down the fast line to Kings Cross. She worried about her babies back home: the latch key beneath the pillow of the oldest and the half loaf of tired sliced white on the kitchen table, next to tins of Value baked beans, can opener – and matches. And she swore the sweet-smelling gent in the smart suit and crisp shirt opposite could see through the plastic of her supermarket carrier and eye its tawdry contents.
Her yellowed reflection in the smeary window was flattering: forgiving of the black shadows beneath her eyes and the sorrowful hang of her too-red lips. She would have to break into another dirty note today, to pay for yet more shit. But clean, crisp notes were what padded the smooth Italian leather inside her companion’s breast pocket, she was sure. It would be nice to make payment with money that hadn’t either been stuffed in her mouth, down her cleavage or forced into cracks where the sun never shone. All she wanted was to make it safely back home, to see her kids before they went to bed and to be there when bullies kicked in the door, scaring them half to death.
She blocked the pain, imagined living with a man unaware of her existence as he sat across the gangway, engrossed in the morning’s money markets. She saw him welcoming her home with champagne and warm bath, sponging away the day’s bruises and wrapping her in a thick-pile towel, patting her dry before tucking her up in clean sheets for the night. He would caress her cheek with the backs of soft fingers and tenderly remove a stray curl from her face before lightly kissing her brow. After sleeping in peace in the lap of the gods, when she woke in the morning, instead of hustling for sex she would simply turn over and make love.
Kate, if you don't apply your talents to writing a book, it will be a crying shame. You could easily spin out a best seller with your ability to bring characters to life. Not only does this character become real, you allow us to empathise and to feel along with her. An excellent piece. I think this would make a superb prologue. Imagine where it could go?
Blessing to you dear Kate.
Love Chanti
Brilliant contrast between the playful eroticism of the title and the very soberinig body of the text. Whereas we're generally distracted by the big wars going on in the world, SEX IN THE MORNING illustrates superbly how some of us fight individual smaller(?) wars every day, sometimes just barely sill alive as we drag ourselves off the battlefield. A great write however you choose to categorize it:-)
Aberjhani
Oh! I shall be travelling those same lines to the same destination Tuesday (what does that tell you...huh? LOL). I shall keep an eye out for the poor girl. Superb juxtaposition of our wholly brutal existence, I'm inspired to watch the faces Tuesday I'm sure I'll spot a few...outstanding piece of as you say, 'micro-fiction', though for me it still edges on the prose side.
Paul;-)
aka Sparky the people watching-trainspotter
The brutality of reality is bastards in heat so all that matters is what they may gain in pleasure, all kinds of pleasure, even if others suffer. That's the way of the world. This story draws it down to the plight of one woman simply living on the wish of love and no one to care for her sorrows.
a dynamic glimpse into the heart of a woman who is in need of love and compassion ... you capture her vunerable sense of being, needing to deceive (herself) in order to survive ...
Reviewed by Andy Turner (Reader)
Reviewed on August 2, 2006
But after six months that'll change.
First six months you could eat her..
Forever after you wish you had of..
Oh the paradox of society and the workings of the mind. Such a terrific presentation here Kate, not only in the harsh realities of your subject over and over again, but the character development, word selection and scenes which resonate the quality of this piece.
Love,
Taylor
Fantastic write that you present with the ability of your facile mind to delve into more than just the facade, and bring about a deeper understanding of what the character of your work is really like.Having known some in her position, I think you've drawn your character with honest precision. Though there are many who would think as Jerry says, that doesn't negate the deeper roots of what brought them to their way of life. Superb duper writing Kate!;-)Eileen
This puts me so in the mind of Marilyn Monroe, unlike the more common hooker you speak of here...but who is to say where the boundaries lie...a higher form of a Hollywood prostitute of Joe DiMaggio who she did go on to marry, and the Kennedy brothers and Peter Lawford and so many others who passed her up, down, and in the middle of Sunset Boulevard where her sun didn't shine after one morning when the one who may have killed her by stuffing a poisoned suppository in her crack (just speculation)and saying she died of an overdose...yea, could be, an overdose of sex in the morning, hustling sex on the Hollywood casting cast, blocking the pain by singing Happy Birthday Mr. President...perhaps that's why she made love to tinseltown women and had sex in the morning with politicians and baseball man. Great micro-fiction, Kate.
"and the sorrowful hang of her too-red lips" That line really got to me for some reason. It says so much about an outside hardness yet a sadness on the inside. Red lipstick makes a face look so pale, like the person wearing it is about to disappear into nothingness. Powerful emotion evoking words, Kate. xxxxooo Janet
Many prostitutes go on to live normal happy lives married to one man of their dreams. You devel into the psyche of a woman of the nights thoughts in her survival in a world that has left her forlorn and dreaming of better days that may never come but she makes the most of them in order to survive.
You have a superior way of allowing us to look at others from their inside. This spun the heavy day to day of a woman who suffers more than just the times she spent on her back. It is very hard to imagine a life as this although others, in suits and office buildings suffer the same bain but with better surroundings. Life takes a toll on everyone it seems but this woman is a survivor. Great write .
Susan
Oh Sweet Kate this is so real it makes me want to go looking for the subject if for nothing else to make sure she got home safe and sound to her kiddies. It is sad when the reality of live echoes and reflects our own basoc fears and instincts. We are blessed for the most part and to know my daughters go home at night to good men and families and a safe home is a comfort to me as I age. You really knocked this one way out into left field for a home run...great emotiions and feelings are threaded through this one Kate and I can feel your heart in it as well.
My Brother insisted on Dragging myself and others down the Cross years ago when I was only 18, what an eye opener that was...
To survive there is no mean feat, is it any wonder she would have such a dream, for it is probably the only escape from her meaningless reality.
At first when I read the title, I thought Eh, what's that LOL, but the depth of this write when I got into it really tugged at my heartstrings for all those who are trapped in this existence.
Hugs
Ch'erie
PS By day you'd never know, it's just like two busy streets crossing over each other!!
A different and plunging one for you... and so early in my morning, too! I'll take the plunge to say that this is a 10 on a scale of 1 to 9. You've probed her boldly sweet inner self in the doing. This woman hurts for dignity, warmth, and a kinder word. We all do, without regard to who we are and how we make the clean notes. Pretending is the glue holding us together, and should we lose it, we've lost more than tiis woman can handle. Wilthout judging her movitves and methods, my heart goes out to her... hoping she wins often enough to feed those kids.
Your Softie Friend, - Bill
Hell yes, Jerry... that is part of the amibiguity and duality I am trying to drive at... but I would prefer to err on the side of compassion and doubt as to the real state of her heart. I believe she does have one... albeit used, abused and confused. Just another hard-workin mother, after all... LOL K xx
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on August 2, 2006
Well, there are boundaries, but like most things in America today, they are blurred to where no one seems to know what the hell they are looking ar, reading or hearing. Ah, the dreams of a hooker on a train, actually she'd probably be trying to figure out how to seperate this "sweet-smelling gent in the smart suit and crisp shirt" out of his cash.
Re-Release! No longer back-listed. Return to the Olde Ways. The hustle and bustle of modern day life has brought many of us to a quick fix attitude.This book is for those of you who are fed up; have looked at your life and your loved ones and realize
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Blessing to you dear Kate.
Love Chanti
Aberjhani
love and peace, B&R
Paul;-)
aka Sparky the people watching-trainspotter
love Tinka
Reindeer
First six months you could eat her..
Forever after you wish you had of..
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Love,
Taylor
D
Brilliant micro fiction that gives us a glimpse into the hard realities of life..
" There but for fortune go You and I "..Joan Baez
Peter
Sage
Susan
Fee
To survive there is no mean feat, is it any wonder she would have such a dream, for it is probably the only escape from her meaningless reality.
At first when I read the title, I thought Eh, what's that LOL, but the depth of this write when I got into it really tugged at my heartstrings for all those who are trapped in this existence.
Hugs
Ch'erie
PS By day you'd never know, it's just like two busy streets crossing over each other!!
Your Softie Friend, - Bill