Drowning
Rhyme by Rhyme
by
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“You’ve been acting s---ty
ever since I told you Clyde’s banging your friend.” Shasta paused, waiting for
a rebuttal. “This should make you
happy, I told Mahat it’s over between us.
My kids do come first.”
Alphia’s eyes widened.
“You look surprised. Children
don’t stop this show.”
Shasta grabbed Eugenia’s hand
and pulled her forward. In the background Alphia could hear Shasta grumbling,
but she could make out only a few words. Something about being tired. Alphia laughed to herself. You are a hundred percent right, there. You
are a tired, sorry looking, overgrown, cockroach.
Shasta returned to the living
room. She needed soap. “Check the
cabinet underneath the kitchen sink.”
Alphia bolted from the room.
Eugenia’s cry seemed somewhere between a shrill and a holler. The baby’s head
was under the water. She grabbed the baby from the tub and patted her back
until she coughed up the water, then glanced back at Eugenia. “You all right,
Sweety?”
The child nodded. “Auntie, can
I get out now?”
“Of course you can.”
Alphia turned to look at
Shasta, standing in the doorway. “Are
you crazy? Do you have any idea what could have happened?”
“I only left them for a
second,” Alphia thought she heard her mumble.
You don’t even get too close
to the water in the shower.”
“Oh s---. Time to go. I’m
tired of you telling me how to raise my kids.”
Shasta had a mortal fear of
being proven wrong. She would defend her actions rather than live up to them.
Alphia picked up the phone and
dialed The Child Abuse Reporting Center. “I’d like to report a case of child
neglect,” she told the receptionist.
She could hear the phone
exchanging hands, then a soft spoken voice came on. “Hello. This is Mrs.
Miranda. How may I help you?”
“My sister left two small
children in the bath tub alone.”
The words flew out.
“Are the children in immediate
danger?”
Alphia frowned, troubled by
thoughts of her answer. It would be simpler if Shasta was staying. She could
keep an eye on them.
“I don’t know.”
“How about April twelfth,” the
woman asked. “The burdensome caseload prevents us from making a home visit
sooner.”
Alphia slammed the phone down.
Shasta strolled back into the
living room as she was hanging up. “I could’ve told you they’d be too busy to
come out.” Her voice sweetened. “Nobody gives a hoot about these two nappy head
chilluns but us.”
Alphia swallowed. “Please
stay.”
Shasta shook her head. “You
bitch and moan too much for me.”
One moment they were talking,
the next the front door opened. Shasta left.
Sandra Cunnion was coming into
the building when Shasta ran out. She did not hear the black woman until she
said, “You stink. Somebody pee on you or something? Why don’t you go shack up
with your own kind?”
For a moment, Sandra’s lips
were trembling so hard, she could not speak. She felt guilty already, but, at
the same time, she had her own stewing volcano, and she could feel it inside
her, roaring her on. “Clyde and I love each other. What we do is our business.”
Her voice remained strong, and she did not wince when her eyes met Shasta’s.
“Look, whore. Go find one of
your own kind to screw.”
“You’re prejudice?” Sandra laughed. “If you
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About the Book
Drowning,
Rhyme by Rhyme
brings to life a Harlem woman’s worst nightmare: that of her older sister and
that of her estranged husband, both fixed on self-pity and vengeance and
committing the most ruthless of all crimes. It’s the story of a young woman’s
all too hate consuming all too non-forgiving of a mother who neglected her, and
a father who molested her. The story of
how she conceived two children by her father: a son she was forced to give up
and a daughter she resorts to abuse.
It’s the tale of a young man’s hate-driven malice,
and disgust for a mother who molested him and a father who deserted him, and
how this hatred turned to out of control rage.
Drowning, Rhyme by Rhyme is a
novel unraveled through poetry that lays bare a surprising world of sex,
treason and, murder.
About the Author
Janette Anderson has
published more than 100 poems in such Anthologies as Iliad Press, Arcadia Poetry
Press, The Poets' Guild, Amherst Publishing, Sparrowgrass Poetry Forum, and others. She has also published poems
accepted for musical settings at Five Star
Music Masters. She has won
Honorable Mentions from Iliad Press,
Editors' Choice Awards from The National
Library of Poetry, poet of the Year Editor's Awards from J. Mark Press, and certificates from The Writer's Workshop of Writer's Digest
School. The author was implored to write children's literature by The Society of Children's Book Writers and
Illustrators. She is a Member of The International Society of Authors and
Artists, The National Authors Registry, and The International Poetry Hall of Fame. She was also nominated as
poet of the year by The National Library
of Poetry in 1994.
Ms. Anderson, nee Aikens,
was born in Savannah, Georgia, the first of twelve children. She grew up in
Harlem. She has two grown sons, Darren Russell and Kevin Karean; is the proud
grandmother of two granddaughters, Ari Caprice and Kaila Felice; and she was
foster parent to more than twenty-five children. Ms. Anderson says she owes her
passion to writing to her foster children.
She lives in White Plains, New York.