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

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
that was supposedly your fault,
is galloping down the stairs.
The "couple" pajamas from your mother
toss themselves out the second story window,
they didn’t fit your growing stomach anyways.
As the filing cabinet with his
Work tosses drawers like an
Accordion,
The scones you made this morning
are spoiling themselves green in the kitchen.
Your great-grandmothers
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



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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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