frost in may
and your mother’s moods
like kentucky weather, sometimes
a blizzard, breaking plates
in the kitchen or
sunshowers, weeping into your
father’s chest,
maybe a siren with no storm following
a raised hand or ring caught
in the garbage disposal
and the glass embedded in her palms
and your brother’s broken window
and the puddles on the floor
and the saltwater drowning the garden,
the eventual drought that ignites
the papers on the dining room table.
frost in may, what’s next, says your father,
snow in june?
easy words from a man who rests
his head by a cirrostratus of a woman.
– serena devi
Serena, I love the flurry of concrete images (they remind me of W. C. Williams), the bits of dialogue, the ironic ending. Although I knew it was a cloud type, I had to look up “cirrostratus” to learn it is “a rather reliable sign for a weather deterioration.” Lively snapshot of a family!
Thank you so much! I appreciate it!
Werk. Joan Didion and I are so proud.
Thanks, Mama Pdogg!
This is much more than a slice of life poem. It personifies well…
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