she blooms in the mornings-
drinking up sunshine water and laughter
until her petals wilt with weariness
and-eating at 2 in the morning
just because
it's there
and it wasn't - there - before.
never afraid to hint that we're lucky because of her
comparing slightly to her own mother,
and not landing on similarities
silent from realizations--

futons full of lazy bodies
fat from filling up on homemade cooking
of the islands or our childhoods
she took us there so we could know who she was
and become something similar too.
closing red-lined eyes as her freckled lips kept speaking
of memories and warnings
jumbled messes that resembled her
we'd cry together because she was crying
and I smoked cigarettes in the bathroom to remind me of home
only to remember that I didn't want to
and she's lazy in that jaded way
tired from making sure we would never wear out
funny how things blow up in the faces of those diffusing the bomb -instead
of those who made it.
"one day they'll get theirs" she says
half joking,
half wishing.

08/25/2002

Posted on 08/25/2002
Copyright © 2024 Melanie J Yarbrough