Daisy

January 22, 2010
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From here I see the plastic vanity
Shoved against the wall
Of the damp basement.
A flickering light bulb, a cracked mirror,
Blue eye shadow scattered
Across the surface
Like the ants that crawled on your blanket
That summer.

You, my cousin and confidant,
Sit on the leather couch
One hand gripping the remote,
The other last year’s Blackberry.
A light flashes across the screen.
The hands on the clock point to the door.

In the kitchen, your mom
Stirs the stainless steel pot
With the wooden spoon
Like the one we used
To bury the porcelain doll
With the ravaged, emerald dress,
Missing buttons, and a broken face.
A casualty of a reckless boy.

I know you’re thinking
Of the trunk packed with suitcases.
The oil stain on the driveway
Glaring at you for the first time.
The single, white hanger in the closet.
Forgotten. Left behind.





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