blue skies across the delta

by Victoria Richard

I have not yet curled the obituary into my console. 

The man next to me asks about my week. 

My morning. 

My year. 

How do I tell him that bridges fall 

And strawberries rot and that 

Under my eyes is still the 

Mascara from two days past.

I was wearing jeans

Making mac and cheese 

Reveling some stolen moments alone – 

Now I am the support in gray – a concrete pillar that 

Cannot change. 

Against the coffin, the earth sags – opening her folds and 

Waiting. 

Now I am the bridesmaid in black,

Pulling a widow’s train to the side – 

Flashing headlights and leading sisters 

To the center of a tear heavy circle. 

Victoria Richard is a writer, gardener, and aspiring curator originally from Progress, Mississippi. In 2019, Victoria came to Jackson to study at Millsaps College - and never left. Between the ages of fifteen and nineteen, Victoria was involved in a high control religious group. This experience has provided her with a passion for bringing stories of hidden abuse to light. Victoria now shares her personal journey of trauma and healing on her Substack, Angels Over Presley Boulevard. Versions of her story have also appeared online in i got out and Tears of Eden. Her work to reconnect to her father's Louisiana heritage is forthcoming in Deep South Magazine. Whenever she isn't researching cults and interviewing survivors, she works to highlight local talent at the Mississippi Museum of Art.