Casia

Joined June 2021

17 stories

Bio

Storytelling is the most powerful tool in history and herstory. In it, I find respite for the heavy soul, passion for the lackluster spirit, forgivness for the guilty and justice for the disheartened. There is no greater pain nor pleasure.

Stories (17)

Filter by community

Sort by (Optional)

My Salt Looks Like Sugar
When I was a kid, my mom would tell me, “Its ok to cry, because saltwater is a cure for everything. There’s salt water in out tears, our sweat, in the sea, and on the towels we use to clean our wounds.”
By Casia5 years ago in Lifehack
The Secret Life of Meemaw
In the American South, everyone’s got either a ma or a meemaw. Some people are lucky enough to get both. Mas give you life and choose your school and draw you a future and brush your hair and teach you who to trust. Meemaws cook your food and iron your school clothes and show you how to grow a garden and drag you to church on Sundays; and when your ma gets too tired or angry or busy, meemaws take over all the things a ma should do but can’t. I was lucky enough to get a ma and a meemaw.
By Casia5 years ago in Families
HAIR BEADS & DRUMS
“Don’t touch the drum,” said the elder whose name I’d forgotten. I was a girl and girls can’t touch the drum. We were in Potawatomi territory in those days, and if a girl touched the drum it might disturb the ancestors.
By Casia5 years ago in Families
MOONSONG GODS
Summer night misters tip their hats at warm, toasted spirits while tall grasses sing the blues to hide away lovers laying ‘bout and saying nothing, pointing at the sky and tickin’ off stars like they was minutes to the universe.
By Casia5 years ago in Poets
That Dark Fellow in the Ground
The black candy-lacquered hearse pulled up real slow to a bronze-donned cemetery gate about 10 feet high - only 16 feet higher than the maggots making way for Christophe LeBlanc’s soon-to-be-interred body. Lydia, with her French cut and large bosoms, turned as she always did to light her too-skinny cigarette. She was dressed like a widow and acted the part all too well. Sebastian sported a slim black suit, his shirt dismissed of its top fasten and his person set off with just enough jewelry to dissuade the attention of the higher sex. He was a notable balance of lamial comportment and masculine disinterest. He had a small scar just above his right eye where he had caught the wrong end of a poker bet in his youth. He pursed his lips and put his hand gingerly on Lydia’s thigh.
By Casia5 years ago in Families

Casia

Bio

Stories .css-1svwz57-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(17)

Filter by community

My Salt Looks Like Sugar

The Secret Life of Meemaw

HAIR BEADS & DRUMS

MOONSONG GODS

That Dark Fellow in the Ground

Stories (17)