Fay L. Loomis: “What He Wore, What He Said, What He Did”

What He Wore, What He Said, What He Did

Grass-green Crocs, purple poly pants
Flowery vines climbing over coral shirt
Gamboled grin

Deep dulcet voice. “You go first.”
“No, you go.”
Lopsided dance

He sashays into the store
I amble to my car
Cock-a-hoop heart

About the Author: Fay L. Loomis, member of the Stone Ridge Library Writers and Rats Ass Review Workshop, lives a quiet life in the woods in upstate New York. Her poetry and prose are published in a variety of publications, including most recently in Kaleidoscope, Redheaded Stepchild, Down in the Dirt, and The Blue Mountain Review.


Image Credit: Ben Shahn “Ohio farmer resting in car, central Ohio” (1938) Public domain image courtesy of the Library of Congress

Fay L. Loomis: “Bathtub Prayers”

BAthTub Prayers

By Fay L. Loomis

Mom had to sell eggs on the sly to get the money for tickets the day we took the bus from Coldwater to Battle Creek, Michigan. Dad would never have approved of us traveling. If he had caught wind of our secret trip, he would have said, “Hell, no, you can’t go. Praying is for crazy people. Stay home where you belong.”

When we got off the bus, Mom pointed toward a tower in the distance. “That’s Dr. Kellogg’s famous Battle Creek Sanitarium. The tower, high above soaring trees, seemed to nod in our direction, the flags atop wave at us.

We turned and walked at a fast clip in the opposite direction, until we came to a white mansion with fish scales in the pointed gable. “Mrs. Reynolds lives here,” Mom said. “Her husband is a doctor. He works at the sanitarium.”   

Mom softly tapped on the door, and Mrs. Reynolds said, “Come in Mrs. Miller. Isn’t it wonderful that the Lord brought us together at Reverend Safford’s prayer meeting when I visited my sister in Coldwater?  Let’s have tea in the parlor, and then we’ll pray.”   

Mrs. Reynolds looked over the top of her glasses at me and said, “I’m glad you are traveling with your mother. It’s never too early to learn about the Lord’s work.”  She paused for a moment to let her words sink in, before asking, “How old are you, young lady? Would you like a glass of milk?” Continue reading “Fay L. Loomis: “Bathtub Prayers””