Poem A Day: Grace

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Grace

sits alone in the hot kitchen.
languid flies sip sugar sweet tea stains
butter beans boil in indolent pots
and salvation steeps in a Mason jar
on the Formica counter shot with gold.
gray dustbunnies shit in corners
junebugs spread indecent wings
and fly away into the yellow sky
to be yanked back and tied
 to the malevolent fingers of children.
peeled paint white fence stands creaking
top rail fell down into weeds.
rusted screen door spreads tentative fingers
where concrete rots into gravel--
stained boots leave red mud clots
on the welcome mat.

This is not at all a good description of my grandmother's kitchen! It was written in response to a dream I had, where my grandmother's farmhouse (normally one of the most inviting places I know) was like a weird, "dark side" version of itself. It was a terrifying dream, and it stuck with me. The images were haunting, and I wanted to try and do them justice with language.  

Comments

  1. mbhmaineApril 17, 2018 at 2:55 PM

    This must have been quite a dream! Your details invoke such a sense of malevolence and decay. Well done! Sleep better tonight.

    ReplyDelete
  2. LevineLiteracyApril 17, 2018 at 3:43 PM

    It tells the story of a time and place that I would like to visit now...and before. Mark

    ReplyDelete

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