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Our Last Hello
In the summer of 1976 . . .
In the summer of 1976, Denny, a lover of fast cars and rock 'n roll, spends his days with a wrench in his hand and grease on his fingers. If only life were as simple as fixing an engine. But with an explosive girlfriend and skeletons in his closet, he protects someone he deeply cares about by pushing her away.
Ramie, inexperienced and naïve, yearns for a deeper connection with Denny, who captivates her attention and steals her heart. Being with him is the only time she feels safe, an unfamiliar and sometimes ill-fitting sensation. Still, circumstances conspire to keep her mired in the dreaded friend zone.
When violence shatters her life, Ramie desperately needs Denny—but he has completely disappeared. Left with nothing but the wreckage of her trauma and a sudden chance at healing, she faces a devastating choice.
To survive the aftermath of her broken world, will Ramie choose to bury her capacity for true love and settle for a safe, numb imitation of happiness?
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California Writers Club Marin
SECOND PLACE WINNER
“The Weight of Seven Pounds”
It’s the second day of fall. I was born yesterday under a waning crescent moon.
Mama could’ve named me Autumn, but she didn’t. A nun at her Catholic school inspired my name. French, my mother asked for, and French it was. Maybe someday I’ll appreciate it. I bet I will.
Outside the hospital, the cool wind howls, lashing my newborn cheeks. Mama’s thin jacket snaps like a whip, and her long, dark curls cling to her mauve lips, damp with unspoken fears.
I won’t cry. My skin feels like stretched silk, cool and tight. This new world, a vast space, frightens me, but not now. I can’t cry now.
A tremor in her arms, a frantic drumbeat in her chest. I know, as I had known in the enclosed thrum of her heart, that she needs me.
We’d been on the sidewalk forever, or at least, as long as a baby could measure. Mama shifts me, a restless weight in her arms, swaddled in blue. She’d hoped for a boy, someone to rely on, to take care of her. I will too.
She doesn’t know it yet, but it’s who I am.
Her gaze fixes on the empty street. Eyes, usually soft when placed on me, dart from all directions. She paces, tracing cracks in the pavement, searching for headlights that have yet to arrive.
by Monique Rardin Richardson
“Pieces of Me” by Monique Rardin Richardson is not only a collection of autobiographical poems but it is also a story of one woman’s journey towards self-love and self-acceptance. Written with such beautiful and captivating prose, these poems speak a truth that not many people get to share or have heard in a world that is too loud for testimonies of culture and healing. The poems are enjoyable to read, offering a breath of fresh air in receiving one person’s courageous and inspirational story."
—Reader Views
"Reading Pieces of Me, snippets of memories, of loves, of hopes, of losses,
and of dreams, we see a thread of kindness that strings them together like beads. There is healing in these poems such as all art must have, and reading them,
a feeling of privilege like being made privy to a sensitive diary."
—Rafael Jesús González,
Poet Laureate, Berkeley, California
Pieces of Me
Now Available at Most Retailers
Poetry
Latest Publications
Here and Now
by Monique Rardin Richardson
Before bed, the moon overhead
steals my attention through the sheer
snow white window covering,
it's thin veil separating her light
from my discreet darkness
Fog slow and silent cascades
over her powerful celestial body,
making the night orb glow
with a primordial mystery
I lift my head, drinking in the peaceful,
quiet pulse, no longer distant
but close as if she speaks only to me
and I become one
with her radiance and light
Last Month of May
by Monique Rardin Richardson
May feels the showers
from the tears of the world.
Is it a curse or a blessing
to embody the emotions of all?
They are one.
Joy comes and goes until
it's too painful to be the keeper
of many secrets,
and smiles are too few.
Without thought, she makes it stop.
And the candle that shines for others
with a whisper blows out, never to be
lit again.
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