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Saturday Nights This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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The utensils are screaming
Rattling the handles on the
If you listen closely,
You can hear the Clorox shrieking
from under the kitchen
It seems the hand soap has lost
its voice;
now it sits watching
the sponge tremble on the tile

The sound of violet
circles the clock.
Five past seven,
The cuckoo says.
The vase your husband gave
You splits in two.
Family pictures swing on their hooks,
while his missing sock,
which was supposedly your fault,
is galloping down the stairs.
The “couple” pajamas from your mother
toss themselves out the second-story
they didn't fit your growing stomach
As the filing cabinet with his
work tosses drawers like an
the scones you made this morning
are spoiling themselves green in the kitchen.
Your great-grandmother's
china tangos in the cupboard,
one step
two step.

Five past eight
the shaking stops,
the house is still.
Game boards stop spinning
as fake money flutters to the ground.
The house settles into itself,
the stairs fold up again,
cabinets close,
curtains swipe themselves shut.
The front door creaks open
as he steps out.
It slams shut,
shattering the stained glass front.
Five past eight,
the cuckoo says
all is well
all is well

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.

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KassandraThough said...
today at 12:22 pm:
I really love this! It flows very well, and has a great feel to it. Very relatable. <3
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