beforesight (excerpt)

the house that held you

mid-morning yellow kitchen curtains
the taste of soap on your tongue
this is the house that held you
white walls and red geraniums
a door bell that stopped time
this is your mother in blue scouring the sink
holding a spatula screaming
then promises of peace
the orange brown carpet
vacuumed into perfect lines
out the window grass and a tree
you’re not allowed to climb

(c) amy willans

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