Issue 3

Zora | Tonya Jones

Zora | Tonya Jones

Everyone stared at me like I lost my mind. In one hand, I clutched my purse. With the other, I smoothed down my favorite purple dress. The one that snatched my curves. I checked to make sure the purple rose I put in my kinky hair was still in place. I know folks were looking at my face in disbelief. I had applied layers of shimmery eyeshadow and stained my lips a luscious berry. I heard someone say “umph” as I stopped in front of Zora’s grave. I gave a slight shrug. Let these fools mourn Zora’s life wearing all black and moaning goodbye songs. They know Zora would’ve laughed at them. But folks get weird about funerals. They think they have to do everything “respectably.”