Skip to main content

To My Future Husband (Skyra Francesca Rideaux-Carencro, LA)


24 years 10 months 309 days
A witness to my loneliness
God’s  attempt to fulfill His Purpose
Through His daughter
A daughter that used to claim another father
But cries for want of his voice
24 years 10 months 309 days
Silent frustration at the lack
Of respect mothers are teaching their sons
Doors not opening on the passenger side
Of my crossed ankles
Chairs still pushed slightly underneath
Cheap tables and dutch balances
I Love you coming from lips steamed in passion
Between closed legs instead
 Of on bended knees with pearl rings
A mother made when still a child
Left with the scars of regret and anger
Fighting my own demons between
The blood on innocent sheets
He should have been yours
You should have been mine
And I yours, We all belong to God
But choices have led to a path
Where three years of abstinence
Three years of waiting to be
My husbands crown and spread
Diamonds on silk sheets of marriage
To a man God told to find only me
Three years of empty passenger seats
Tables for one,
And spider webs growing in places
Where passion never pulsed
The man my husband should look like
Sleeping in a tomb near God’s Hand
I die everyday longing for both
my father and my husband
because both have abandoned my heart
and left me to my lonely independence
its dark here where I cry
and I cry and I cry
for the father that will never
walk me down a garden filled
with forget-me-nots
for a son who will never know
the image of manhood
for the husband who will never
know I am enough
for the life sacrificed to a God
of mysterious ways
for a woman too scared to admit
that every night when God’s listening
she prays for her future husband
for the man that God promised Jesus would be
the bridegroom to my loneliness
the crown of my future husband
24 years 10 months 309 days
And still I await his answer

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Ash Wednesday (Brian Falcon - New Orleans, LA)

  It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far mo...

Louisiana Words Remembers Jorge Arturo

There’s nothing that hurts more than when we lose someone from our Louisiana Words family. But, the beauty of our writing movement is that the words of our loved ones live on with us.   On June 20th, 2023, Louisiana Words Allstar, Jorge Arturo, moved on from this world leaving our hearts broken. He was a charismatic and talented human being. Jorge resided in New Orleans, LA and had been active on Louisiana Words for over a year. To honor Jorge’s life and work, we will be sharing his writing and live performances all Summer 2023. Please help keep his spirit alive by sharing his work. We know that Jorge’s words will connect with our readers and we hope to keep his spirit alive.  Jorge’s first submission: “The Dog Show” debuted on February 6th, 2022 and is his most successful piece to date. In 2022, Jorge spent 10 weeks in the top with “The Dog Show,” “Weavers,”  “They Say Love Kills, This Time It Really Did,” and “If Hell is Real, It Looks Like an Airport.” His la...

Nobody Said There'd Be a Day Like This (Sam Ray - New Orleans, LA)

  I know how this should be:  I've seen it, you see, In soap operas, Movies. Your eyes are closed, As if in sleep. Perfect peachy skin Atop a snow white pillow  Under flawlessly matched sheets. The heart monitor, Quiet bleeps. The ventilator, A steady hiss. None of that is this. Your eyes Stuck open  Seeing without sight Yellow sclera Dumb tears streaming. Tubes, taped to your face  Delicate skin torn Where nurses Repositioned them  To feed you To heal you You never liked being told What to do. Your whole torso spasms Spastic, Every 40 seconds. A machine  Forces your lungs to act. Your hands are warm From hemodialysis  But don't respond  When we each grab one Give it a kiss. We spend the day  Brushing your hair  Telling stories  Singing  songs. Praying prayers. You're not there. Hospital staff Are more lovely  If less pretty  Than on TV. When the time comes  They gently walk us From the room Close the curtai...