Five hours ago we were chasing rainbows in the cold sun,where rain and our bare feet slapped against the sidewalk. In her mind she keeps all the treasures she misses— not a birthday, not a rag doll, but her mommy and her doggies. She has lined the couch cushions with pretend puppies—what’s real is fake to her, what’s dead lives, where the rain ends she explores the map in her mind, where dreams are caged in the wrinkleless years of Pond’s cold cream and mirrors, this is where she lives, remembering when mirrors were a pleasure vane and I was the one mimicking her every move. At midnight she changes out of her pajamas for a walk to the park in search of dogs that died twenty years ago. There are no dogs.
There are no rainbows. There is only time, the same time, same old time with nothing in between.
Written for: Poetic Bloomings Prose Poetry
“(just once) Let’s be bad”
He always spoke in his detective voice, So
low and hazy I had to take off my ears and
pin them to my eyes to hear him tell us he
was happier before us kids. We read it more
than heard it, felt it more believed it.
We stayed outside most that day exploring
dangling clouds, stretching them across
Pistakee Lake until their anger crashed, then
we went inside and played cat’s cradle with
the lightning while he snored thunder under
the covers of The Raven.
It was the cat that woke him
It was the cat that blamed us and sneered
when he slammed parcels of Poe prose
against the wall. I wanted to cry but mostly
I just filled up with puss and poison hoping
octopus arms would grow from my belly and
wrap around his face. Instead, I tossed
pebbles into his bathtub and you let the cat
out when we ran into the rain, jumpy with
laughter and so sweaty I thought my palms
would slide off my hands into the puddles
on the road.
PAD Day 20