Minna B

I heard your truck creek 

as it pulled up to my house.

I heard your footsteps

climb the porch to my front door.

I heard the door open,

and you make your way

up the stairs and into my bedroom.

I heard you come for me,

but I was still alone.

Why didn’t you come home?

Just hold on.

A little bit longer.

Please,

just hold on.

To walk me down the isle,

to meet your grandchild.

Please

hold on.

Just a little bit longer.

You may have lost that one,

but don’t forget what you have won.

Family gatherings,

love, laughter,

long awaited weekend vacations,

a Minion I gave to my sister on the way back home.

Sparkles on my neck,

ears and fingers.

A bike 

to go here or there

or where

ever, always agreeing

because we both enjoy the same things.

A disposable camera full of memories

kept safe in a box just above my work—

a reminder to never lose hope,

to always have fun.

A reminder that he’s there

through thick and thin

even when

I cry in the night thinking of my dad.

Because he knows.

He too feels my pain.

So I no longer think about the loss,

instead,

I realize how much greater was the gain.

I’m unenthusiastic. I hate waking up so early.

The cat meows to be fed—she has to get spayed.

I’m looking at plane tickets. The prices are going up and up.

I’m confused. Is he worth it?

I’ll never have enough money for that.

*

Rent is coming up.

The restaurant is slow. I’m so broke.

How can I pay for this?

I’m late on school payment.

What can I sell?

I have nothing of value—monetarily.

I hate my job.

I don’t want to work because I hate this job.

—they don’t give a shit.

We used to be friends.

We’d go out for drinks and talk about our lives.

“How are you?

How’s school?

How’s your dad doing?”

They stopped asking because they don’t care because

they know

I hate this job.

*

I live across the street from him, but he feels so far away.

I work, I eat (sometimes), I sleep—alot.

I drink even more.

I smoke when I’m bored.

I work, I drink, I smoke, I sleep.

I wallow because I’m unhappy with my job.

I’m lonely because he’s gone.

I’m anxious because I’m standing still—going nowhere fast.

I work, I work, I work.

Drink. Smoke. Sleep.

I don’t remember actual events because it’s just a 

hazy cloud of smoke,

a blur of loneliness.

A big empty apartment full of

furniture, art, books, dressers, clothes,

so much clothes I’ll never wear because

it’s always the same black uniform.

I see black:

shirts, shoes, socks, pants, an apron that smells of week old food.

A black memory I can not really see.

*

We lived in a turquoise apartment.

Our humble little home.

I work, he works,

He leaves early in the morning.

I sleep.

I get home from work late at night.

He sleeps.

He works on his computer; always working,

trying to further his “career”

—I lay on the fur covered couch,

alone because he’s at the computer working,

with his back facing me.

My black uniform is covered in white dog fur.

I go to bed because there’s nothing there for me—no one.

He comes to bed. I’m asleep.

He leaves early in the morning to go to work. I’m asleep.

The black uniform hangs waiting for the night.

So much clothes,

but yet I only

wear the black.

I had the strangest dream last night.

We were laying on a bed.

My head on his chest.

He falls asleep.

Then a once-loved visitor showed up.

I took him to my room.

I lay on his chest while the other slept across the way.

I asked myself how I could get the late guest out of my house before the other awoke?

I didn’t want him there.

But the comfort of his chest was so familiar.

I didn’t want anyone to see this.

I didn’t want him to know about this.

He HAD to go.

I lay on his chest while the other awoke.

He turned on the lights to find me with my head on his chest.

He ran out the door and stood on my lawn with tears of rage.

His car was in my drive-way,

the others was in the street.

I tried to tell him

“it’s not what you think. wait!”

While the other just walked away,

his car in the street.

He stood on my lawn, furious and hurt.

His car was in my drive-way,

while the other drove away.

What had I done?

And then I woke up.

A good friend said,

this is you wanting to push previous feelings away,

attempting to let new ones in.

But you can’t

until you want.

The first step is admitting.

And with the want

comes the can.

Jan. 27 marks the beginning of Restaurant Week, a filling opportunity for people who can’t regularly afford fine dining. Many of Savannah’s fine dining restaurants are offering a “prix fixe” menu for just $30 a person. Places includes Ruth’s Chris, Garibaldi’s, and the Olde Pink House.

This hard-to-pass deal gives hard working students who wait tables in between school the opportunity to sit on the other side of the fancy table for once, as well as boost revenue for local economy.

Restaurant Week was established to bring business to local restaurants during slow season, when tourism is few and far between, and businesses rely on the loyalty of locals. “We serve anywhere between 200-400 people on Saturday nights. During slow season,we’ll do maybe 100, if we’re lucky,” said Gerald Greene, head chef at Garibaldi’s. “Last Saturday, we got almost 300 people,because of Restaurant Week.”

“Most of the Restaurant Week participants are people who work in the service industry themselves, which means they know how to tip, and they’ll tip us well,” said Erin,a long-time serverat the Olde Pink House.

Restaurants such as Alligator Soul and Belford’s feature some of their award-winning entrees during Restaurant Week. The portions are customized to be slightly smaller than they would be off the regular menu, but by offering starters and desserts; the three courses make for an appropriate sized meal.

“The quality and portion of the food obviously depends on what restaurant you go to,” said Andrew Haynes, a Restaurant Week participant dining at Vic’s on the River. “But it’s a deal regardless. It’s nearly impossible to leave any of these restaurants full and happy for under $30 ordering off their regular menu.”

For a preview of the participating locations and menus visit: www.dining.savannahnow.com.

Belford’s site: www.belfordssavannah.com

Garibaldi’s site: www.garibaldisavannah.com

Vic’s’ on the river’s site: www.vicsontheriver.com

Restaurant week/dining in Savannah site: www.dining.savannahnow.com

That is my enterprise.

Start the race

bets in place.

I’m not a gambler,

but I am a rambler.

Can’t stand still.

I said I’d go,

and I will.

Not from here,

though that’s my fear.

Won’t shed a tear,

because I know how to steer.

Watch me go

and win.

Don’t try to catch me.

You will never be

anything like me.

Watch me go 

and win.

Don’t try to stop this.

Because you will miss

all the things I do like this.

Watch me go.

Just watch.

I’m going to win.

and you’ll be sorry

you missed out

on an opportunity

like this.

i have destroyed

the vase

the flowers

the canvas

the memories

the notes

the photographs

of our past,

because there is nothing here anymore,

so there should be nothing of yours

in my home.