Refuse

Mom never thought
the house was clean enough.
Because it wasn't.

Dad collected newspapers
and paper scraps he might
need some day.

Piles of randomness
gathered in every corner of
every single room

waiting to be
sorted through or purged once
and for all.

She'd secretly thin
the stacks and toss the
abandoned items that

filled our garage
into the outside recycle bins
on trash day.

He'd rage when
he realized that things were
missing, even though

he couldn't tell
you what had disappeared or
how long ago.

Dad clung to
those scraps as if they
were long-held memories,

cherished moments stolen
right from his chubby hands,
clinging as tightly

as a child
holding their security blanket and
begging you to

let it go.



--

Poetic Bloomings Memoir Project: Part 3: Welcome Home

If I had a hammer ...

She was a fierce little girl
determined to tie her own shoes
and make her own way

"I can do it by myself,"
she'd declare, as if Mom and
Dad had nothing to offer

Stomping into the street in her
pink overalls, plastic hammer in hand,
ready to fix the world

--

Poetic Bloomings Memoir Project Part 2: Look what I did!

The last straw

Oh how I'd love to
save my teeth
from the cold clack of

ice cubes crashing against my
dental work. But
you took the last straw.


--

April PAD Day 25 - last straw