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My Mother the Nigger

by Noah Cicero



I
WAS SIXTEEN.

I was washing dishes on a Saturday afternoon in my parent's house.
You get your shirt wet while washing dishes you’ll marry a nigger, that’s what grandma always said.


My mom was sitting there at the kitchen table smoking and clicking her dentures.

I didn't see her much.

She went to work at the factory before I got home from school and came home after I went to sleep.

I didn't mind not seeing her though.

She was a wretched narcissist who did nothing but tell horror stories of her mother the benny addict and her father beating her.

And how she was bourgeoisie even though her house was a ranch with two tiny cells for bedrooms.

I was washing dishes and some water splashed on my shirt.

Mother: You get your shirt wet while washing dishes you’ll marry a nigger, that’s what grandma always said.

Monco: You know when I grow up I plan on marrying a black person.

Mother: No you are not; I will not stand for any of my sons marrying a nigger.

Monco: That’s what I’m going to do, marry a nigger mom; I’m going to marry as many niggers as possible and have like thirty nigger children and bring them to your white trash family reunion.

Mother: You are such a fucking asshole; you would never do that to me.

Monco: Mom, you’re a goddamn nigger.

Mother: No, I’m fucking not you piece of shit!

Monco: Mom, we are all niggers to The Man.

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About Noah Cicero


Noah Cicero lives in Youngstown, Ohio. He has a book published called The Human War off Fugue State Press. He is a member of The ULA. He has short stories and poems published at Retort, Black Ice, Lit Vision, and many more places. His favorite activities are eating ribs and going to bikini bars.

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