Paper Plates

I think we all were eager to leave
that soft blue house with its wind chimes swinging,
the oil-stained driveway,
the sugar tips that wept
pink every year as hummingbirds and ants played in their sweet petals.
When we left, I said goodbye
to the gentle blooming bush that stroked
my window every night.

In the backyard there were bluebonnets and mushrooms and a flat stone path leading
up to wide French doors that watched the dining room
like gaping eyes, watching

all of my worst memories,
long-repressed,
pushed into the back of my mind like the putrid dishes we all ignored.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s