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Love Letter

Lying here watching a pillar of smoke rise from the neon cherry of a cigarette. This room would look like a grainy black and white photograph or some obscure film noir about a busty blond and a private eye if it weren’t for the cold, blue duotone cast from a clock on the bedside table.

My eyes adjust from the red glow of a half-smoked cigarette to the blue hue of numbers blurry in the distance.

12:10

The room feels dead until the hiss of the heater kicks on and pushes the pillar of smoke into twisty curls and tapers it off into ozone. As I snuff the life out of my cigarette, crushing its cherry into smoldering embers under the tip of my middle finger, I feel your skin nestle perfectly next to mine. Your hand in my curves, your warmth against my neck. A cool, blue-black jigsaw of flesh.

- Gigi Foster

(featured in the poetry forum 06.12.09)

She stood in the kitchen, sobbing over the stove.

She touched each one. Examined them for flaws, dirt, breaks. Raked them off the surface of her table and into the pot. Alone at home, taking her time. She filled the pot with cool water and, with both hands, she reached in washed the whole batch. She strained them from the dirty water and refilled the pot. Carefully added salt, garlic, onion, cumin, chili powder. Finally, after about a half hour, she turned on the heat.

Check them every 15 minutes. Add more water.
15 minutes. Tasting. Needs more garlic.
15 minutes. Not quite right. Taste them again. Maybe more cumin. Let them cook down.
15 minutes. Smelling. A little chili powder. Add water.
15 minutes. Tasting. Smelling. Perfect. Add water and let them cook down.
60 minutes. She dozed off. Smelling. She jumps up.

Her face burns with anger and hormones. The tears well up and pour over her cheeks. She wants to open up the back door and punt the whole pot into the yard. But instead, she stood in the kitchen, sobbing over the stove.
Fighting a losing battle with the hot flashes and exhaustion.
Crying over a pot of burnt pinto beans.

- Gigi Foster

(added 06.12.09)

Honey Boy

She hates salmon patties
so much so, that when she buys a can of tuna
she quickly diverts her eyes from the
Honey Boy pink salmon cans on the next shelf.

Can't say that I blame her.
A salmon patty was the last thing she ate
before he beat the shit out of her.

Deprived of water,
she slept on the floor.
And the same thing happened every night.

All she remembers is an oak leaf
burnished belt and canned salmon.

- Gigi Foster

(added 06.12.09)

A bit about Gigi: Gigi Foster was born Angela Gail Foster in Corpus Christi, Texas. Her work has been featured, well, no where. She self-published two chapbooks and recently recorded 30 Pieces of Silver, a spoken word album, with friend and guitarist, Isaac Hoskins. She currently resides in fabulous Denton, Texas, with her musician husband and two cats.

A tad more about about Gigi: In 2007, Gigi starting putting her thoughts in permanent ink on her mom's dare. Her mom, who can't find it in her heart to call her "Gigi", has this to say about her, "Angela’s writings are funny, sharp, angry, witty, pointed and poignant. She writes from a place most people don’t like to admit they have - driven by emotional honesty." Needless to say, like most mothers, Gigi's mom is incredibly biased.

Ms. Foster's influences include McMurtry, Bukowski and Morrison, as well as Pabst Blue Ribbon, smoky bars, dysfunctional families and Sunday afternoon card games. She has performed her work at The Porch, Secret Headquarters, Dan's Silver Leaf and her mother’s living room.