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C.A.S 1932-1992
by Fiona Helmsley

I like my mother's anecdotes
Random objects take her there
As I get older, the stories change
It's no longer necessary to sanitize.

I like that dress, it's beautiful.....

Well that's a funny story.....
We were in Ireland and your father was pissed at his cousin
He stole that dress as revenge


In high school, my sister and I got a reputation as thieves.
People used to say, "If it's not nailed down, its fair game for a Saunders."
As my mother's anecdotes change, I wonder if it was a genetic trait.

One of our last bonding experiences
(Bonding is a loose description)
My father brought me a bike-
Took it out of his station wagon,
(After he died his car sat in out driveway for over a year, the newspaper from the day on the backseat. he always gave me extra money to get candy when I'd get him the newspaper)

Before you take this out in the neighborhood, why don't we paint it? You like yellow don't you?

We only have spray-paint and now it looks ridiculous but he's adamant and I can't disagree or he might take it away
We pay special attention to the area on the bikes frame with the numbers on it

I'm at the library with my friends, I want them to like me
I recently read somewhere that the average person lies at least ten times in a 40 minute conversation
During this time period I was above average
My father is here
Its 3 o'clock
I can't ignore him

Does your father work?

Oh yes, but his job involves a lot of research, that's why he is here.


I haven't seen him in weeks; he no longer lives at home.
Only my brother goes to his room, in a boarding house in Deep River
After dad dies, they search behind the air conditioner for a gun.
It is not there.
Was it ever?

It's horrible, but I don't love him.
I appreciatehim.
He's an icon. A character. A beat winkle pecker alcoholic poet thief intellectual handsome revolutionary flash in the pan misogynist great conversationalist character sexist racist dangerous shithead

He's Brendan Behan, Bobby Sands, Sean O' Casey, Kerouac, George Bernard Shaw, Jean Genet, Charles Manson Bukowski Saunders sad, sad man.
I'd read a book, write a book, get inspiration, but I can't love him.

It's been too long and even then it never was.

It was nice to have known you dad.

You're the man in the story now.

I believe this is what you would of wanted.



About the author:
Fiona (nee Saunders) Helmsley is a writer of creative non fiction and poetry. Her writing can be found at cherrybleeds.com and in the zines
I Like My Meat Tender and Bloated Girl in Stretchpants.



© 2011 Word Riot

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Midnight Picnic
a novel by
Nick Antosca

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The Suburban Swindle


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