Chris Baldauf

Short Stories, Poetry and Prose

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Chris Baldauf - WriterBorn-again Southerner, Chris grew up in Michigan and relocated with her husband, digging their way through snow banks until alligators halted their progress south. Chris possesses a B.A. in English from McNeese State University and a master’s degree in lying, the prerequisite of a good fiction writer. Retired from homemaking, she spends her days writing and living on the river in Southwest Louisiana. A past President of the Bayou Writer’s Group, she currently attends BWG’s Thursday morning critique group, and reads with the Pulpwood Queens book club. Active in prison ministry for the past twelve years, Chris is the President of the Board of The Open Door, a women’s prison and re-entry initiative.

Links to articles written by Chris:

The Upper Room

Rejoice!

The Voice of Southwest Louisiana

Mother’s Day
Local Volunteers Offer Hope
Restoring Hope

Barista

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My short story, Barista, is published here first for your pleasure. I plan to publish original content weekly. It may be a poem, flash, or a longer short. Stay in touch and let me hear what you think. Chris

 

His eyebrow rose. “Forty-three?” The assistant manager shakes his head at The Expresso Computer’s newest hire. “Tisha, I wouldn’t have pegged you over thirty.”

Latisha Williams frowns and points her long brown finger at the tip jar. “I’m not tipping you Brian.”

“Too bad.” He flips a can of whipped cream into the air, catching it behind his back. With a flourish of prestidigitation he squirts a dollop on a hot Grande Supreme. “Your soy, mocha, latte with three shots.” He hands the steaming java to an enamored teen.

“Impressive.” Tisha nods her Afro and glances over the room. It’s 4:30. The tables are full with one computer station unoccupied. The afterschool rush is over. It’s her fourth day, and she knows the routine—now the after work crowd. Squeezing out a soapy sponge in the sink, she wipes down the counter. “This place moves. How long have you been working here?”Continue Reading

Piquant

adjective

1. agreeably pungent or sharp in taste or flavor;
    pleasantly biting or tart: a piquant aspic.
2. agreeably stimulating, interesting, or attractive: 
    a piquant glance.
3. of an interestingly provocative
    or lively character: a piquant wit.
“piquant.” Dictionary.com. 2016. http://dictionary.com (19 January 2016).

Frozen Kingdom

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Recently, freezing rain shocked our south Louisiana sensibilities. As I sat warm in my living room, I watched some brown finches duck under a leafy green bush near the porch to escape the icy drizzle. While I pondered the small birds plight, white accumulated on the wood planks of our wharf. Mist rose from the chilled river in buffs that scurried across the ripples from the North Wind’s breath.
Twice in sunny weather, I’ve spotted a bald eagle taking flight from the trees on the far bank. It prompted me to write this poem:Continue Reading

Carnose

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fresh paper, like fresh meat
a ravenous appetite
to touch the lined sheet
tear nourishment from my pen
rip the fear
calm the hunger pangs

Cleanliness

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I was raised in the Midwest. My blood sings with a heavy German accent, and my DNA is imprinted with a blue-collar work ethic. I was brought up to believe if you weren’t ill, you should be sweating. The South has taught me to slow down. Granted it’s taken me a few years, but I do appreciate a good drawl and the rock of a porch swing.Continue Reading

Reality Check

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The past few weeks have been a roller coaster ride. My emotions, like eggs rolling on the coaster car’s floor between my feet. I try to stop them, but they crack and ooze with a gooey reality check.

I’ve been on hormone replacement for years, and I was under a delusion my emotions were under control – that I was too old and therefore no longer at the mercies of this monthly ride. How foolish we humans are, so easily sucked into our fantasies of power and restraint. A tiny pill, half the size of a pencil eraser, one milligram, zapped my myth. Between our insurance provider insisting on a generic medication substitution or pay through-the-nose, and our drugstore closing because of Obama insurance restructuring, I was left for a month without my milligram of hormonal sanity.Continue Reading

Home

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As the leaves fell in September, I remember my despair. My mind ached with the coming gray and bare, the monochrome of winter in South Louisiana. There’s no promise of snow here, that fresh fall of magic, waking in the morning to white silence; the reverent beauty that washes the soul. I remember January in Michigan. Shovel in hand, the romance fades; snow turns to gray and fluff to mush.Continue Reading

Winter Paradise

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The north wind is wrestling with a warm front, as gray clouds jockey for position. The air is electrified with a cacophony of birds. Like the dissonant noise before a symphony, the musicians warm up. Winged sections flutter overhead. Dozens of sporadic flocks moving, migrating, chirping hello to their southern cousins as they hurry past, using their invisible GPS.Continue Reading

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