Mom in the Kitchen

The card table has collapsed
Under the weight of newspapers and maps
I hear my mother in the kitchen
Making voices for scenes she reenacts

I look for meaning in the things I should forget
While she smokes her cigarettes

She talks about her missing keys
All the locks that they once opened
They say it’s easier with time
I haven’t even begun hoping

There’s a land between crazy and quirky
I know she never meant to hurt me

The wallpaper has been coming down for decades
We all need to break free
I see my father at the sink doing dishes
He’s been on my mind lately

I pull the flowered curtain back
It’s always dusk inside of this room
All the apples have grown soft
I’ll make a pie sometime soon

I tried to leave this place so many times
Maybe I’ve grown resigned

She’s talking gossip with the plants
It’s kind of funny in a certain light
I pull my pages off the fridge
Start reading stories that I’ve typed

Outside a rabbit listens quiet in the weeds
As wind moves through the trees

There’s a fissure where my life split right in two
I’m both a man and a chicken
While I’m out there making waves out in the water
I’m also stuck here in this kitchen

Your blood just below the surface seems to visibly race and it can see the line of regret cross your face.

Just below the windowsill there’s a fragile rabbit listening trying to make a word for everything

The wind comes in reminding you of strength and hope a
You’ve started leaving this s town too many times to count and the aftermath of your decisions cause a fissure where you are and where you could have been.

Experiments on n human behavior carried out in the back of a Buick there’s the moments of paralysis but you’re working your way through it.

If you can just find a ribbon for your grandfathers typewriter

The way we marginalize the undesired
String our shoes closed with wires