Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 11
It’s like you never left the kitchen sink footed dance floor. I often feel that something like a familiar round face shrunk in the wash, the tight perm cut down to salt and pepper hair, my mother’s mother is in the kitchen sink and she said she will miss us all so dearly, quietly.
The smudge of a bottom lip and your colour stains on the fridge. I wanted to paint a smile on in electric blue and take it for a spin.
The perfect love story told itself in a gentlemanly manner from the tulip patch, the perfumed window smiled gracefully. It became a little too terminal.
The small kitchen has been kept up so wonderfully like a pretty ‘do. You asked if I could see it, your hair on all the faucets.
Your arms shrank in diameter by approximately 37% when you tried to wrap it all together with blanket stitch, let us all blame it on the waltzing carpet and ignore the humming of the bed legs. I know we are not to whom it may concern, not yet anyways, but let me lead this marigold game of charades.
Of all contrary beginnings I saw the sink disrobed and I so sincerely hugged the bathtub whole. There’s no further treatment for the yellow bricks, you danced around the dining table and painted the clouds navy. I put the wrong key to my blue mouth and the whole room applauded in chartreuse as a chorus at the tragic song.
Your dance partner tipped the water down the sink, broke it and forgot your favorite picture. I asked myself the sheer weight, that of intimacy. I imagined maybe in baby blue it had been done somewhere 56 years earlier, only to roll off the tongue pink and screaming.
I wonder if it had been you, I danced with slowly. I wandered downstairs and my teeth buzzed when I got near the washing line for delicates, like us, that is. I stared into the warm light of a microwave that hadn’t been invented yet and when my slippers were finally warm, I pulled out my photo album.
I spoke out loud and we had a cup of tea in the mugs you liked, we laughed about jam sandwiches and sitting still.
She told me dearly to pay attention to the cardigans, to eat my bananas and she went to meet my mother at the gate.
She kissed my cheek and they were both gone, the grandfather clock melted into the sunken eyed house cat.
A tired but harmonic rendition passed me your dancing shoes. I hope you still visit.
Jodie-Elaine
Written by
Jodie-Elaine  22/F
(22/F)   
51
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems