Baby Huey

Baby Huey and Mama Huey.

that’s what my sister Annette called us

back when we were kids

in the Sixties,


always laughing.


You have to be old enough

to remember them—cartoon ducks.

I, small, thin, wagging finger,

Mama Huey.


Annette, larger than Mama,

plump (fat),

Baby Huey.


At supper, Dad:

“Annette, you eat too much.”

She, running away

from the table

in tears

to the bedroom

we shared,

breaking my heart.


“Dad, do you have to?” I ask.

I’m seven, going after her

to see if I can soothe,

make her laugh.


She and I—

a life of diets.

I, as a teen, turned 


She, in her twenties, began

the way of

The Knife.


Decades followed of:

Fill this out.

Laser this away.

Cut this off.

Lift my chin.


Slit my throat.


Annette’s last








And she never even got

to be the




for all to come and see, which 

she used to laughingly brag about

with wide smile and a

flare of her surgically-slimmed upper arms.

“My luck!” she would have said.


Her ashes

arrived in my

mailbox months later,

in a small, black sachet—

all that’s left of my

laughing buddy,

my beautiful

Baby Huey.


Author: Valerie Serrano

I'm a writing teacher, writer, editor, self-publishing coach -- a one-woman operation called Let’s Write! I love children, and pray they are spared the worst of what's going on in this world today. "Truth" is my middle name (though it can get me into trouble!) And I always pray to be nothing but truthful in whatever I write, even if it's fiction. I can be a perfectionist when it comes to writing, editing, and book designing; and I enjoy taking the time to be conscientious about getting things just right, while still staying relaxed enough to remember we humans all make mistakes (the best way I learn, it seems!). Praise God through our Lord Jesus Christ (the only real Truth), and may He bless you and your family. Thanks for visiting my site! Valerie Serrano

5 thoughts on “Baby Huey”

  1. I’ve always hesitated to comment on poetry. Baby Huey has moved me enough to bravely share my feelings. After, reading through several times, in one sitting. It didn’t move me like a gentle breeze or a strong wind. It swept me away like a tornado.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. shinyobjectssite, Thank you. It was your poem The Girl With a Dream about masks, with the first line of, “The empties are all around us” that reminded me of my poem about my sister Annette. You are very astute in your observations of how looks are everything and substance is disappearing right in front of us. I hope people will listen to what you have to say. I’m putting a link to your poem here for anyone who would like to read it.

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s