melissaahowells
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mother and I we keep in the separate corners of the jewelry box it is the heat of August she is surveying the turquoise I am silent lying among the silver on the left I am my tenth grade picture looking upwards staring somewhat blankly at the top of the box I think about the day that picture was taken how my windswept hair danced everywhere into a tangle and how I hated showering with the other girls my soon dead mother is chiding me from the other corner she always had the uncanny nose to smell out my negativity and be the first one to push me in the direction of joining the bluebirds or a sorority Melissa Ann, you who do not get along with anyone she says...let others come to you and appreciate you for who you are (eye roll) like it is one of God's own commandments she does not understand we are merely pictures from another time and dimension conversing in her overflowing jewelry box she has lost most insight/awareness she may have accumulated over time she is now only a photo talking back to me in a jewelry box I am aware that I am a photograph too Mother I say your birthday just passed us by again a thought occurs to me suddenly why are we here in her jewelry box she stops talking then like a skip on an old 78 record she does not understand either Gee its so stuffy in here Mom-ma I've missed you I say I'm right here! she shouts, I'm I right next to your Mother's big bold turquoise necklace now this I can't take and so I fold my photo edges over like a long neat pocketbook and say to her Mother even in the afterlife you joke your pain away Copyright August 19 2014 all rights reserved by this author All ideas/rants/poetry/prose are the legal property of this writer Meloo/Melissa A Howells/straight from her Tilt-a-World Vote for this poem |
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