hello@manuel·2021-11-25·via Ye Olde Blogroll — Firehose
I’m incredibly grateful to and for the people Scattered Words: Poems for Jernee Timid Loadholt is touching. My baby girl’s life was such a testament to my peace, and it makes me happy to know others want to read the poems specifically crafted for her life and death.
Pooja, at LifesFineWhine, shared an in-depth review of the book last night, and I am sharing it here with all of you. Please click the link below to be directed to the full review.
Thank you again, Pooj!
About the author A versatile Southeastern writer, Tremaine L. Loadholt has been published in literary journals, anthologies, and magazines, and has also published four books: Pinwheels and Hula Hoops, Dusting for Fingerprints, A New Kind of Down, and Séduire. She lives with her pleasantly silent Red-Footed Tortoise, Zumi. Her artistic expressions can be found at […]
a six-word story about my level of comfort when at home
H O M E… it’s where “no bra” lives.
*A slightly different version of this six-word story first appeared on Medium several years back in a Six-Word Story Submission Call I’d done in A Cornered Gurl.
Sunday morning free-flowing poetry
she used to make me feel like the ends of a loaf of bread—lonely and untouched, a nuisance among false nutrition.
it took years for me to recognize that I was stuffed French Toast—quality breakfast—a delicacy across the world over.
to her, I would never be more, so I left. she would always see the ends of a loaf of bread—ever-present, first and last in line, dependable, yet too tough to swallow.
I am a four-course meal, never-ending hors d’oeuvres, and endless recipes of food for the soul. too bad she’ll never be full from me.
Friday was a PTO day of perfection
A video montage of most of my day from Friday, June 05, 2026. Video Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
a day off for care… eyes checked. teeth checked. a breakfast for the body & soul…
I moved through the world like it owed me more than comfort, and I found it.
Friday is a day made for self-love and spiritual realignment. Saturday will judge my character.
you could never Kill Bill me to death. Uma Thurman Martial Artsing her way through vixens and villains is a pastime of which I approve.
who else could murder the father of her child while giving her daughter a glimpse of taking down the patriarchy with a katana sword a dead-to-the-world craftsman steeled for her?
two installments power-packed with rage, love, grief, and gore while the wounds of a betrayed woman fester is top-tier viewing for pleasure.
whenever I want to escape my pain, I Beatrix Kiddo it away.
At Jernee’s Burial Site. Sunday, May 31, 2026. Photo Collage Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
eight months later, you still visit me as I’m visiting you, and my world has shifted to peacefulness in other forms.
you were my peace. you were my comfort. you were my joy.
although, it is becoming familiar in the void, I’m still breathless without you.
I don’t think the same. I don’t move the same. the woman I am turning into wishes she had your knowing stare in front of her.
but this is grief… I am covered in love I carry in my bones for you—you’re still in every blink of my eyes and every curl of my fingers.
I can feel you in the gaps and pauses of time—you are everywhere and nowhere simultaneously… and on most days, that is a heartbreak I shovel through until my arms give way to the pain sleeping in their veins.
my forever fur baby—you will never know how centered you kept me—how grounded I grew to be in the comfort of your care.
maybe you felt it as you were dying. maybe you smelled it as you watched me take on your independence when it fell from your soul. maybe you sensed the slowness of every step I took around you—cautious of your weathered bones.
I stand in the midst of temporary silence, birds sing a song of which I am lyric-less, and chickens keep watch over hours of land where my heart is buried, and I wonder…
