recent poems

Allie Maness

My mother woke up and brushed snow from her hair.
She walked into her living room and found her husband
sitting on our rented polyester love-seat.
His eyes were half-opened,
a mixture of blue and red, like an Independence Day sunset.
She shook him a bit until he jolted upright
and looked around.
Mom beat him to saying the first words of the day.
” Boy, you are many typical snowflakes
falling lower atop a thatched roof.
And we are inside playing boardgames for flowers
which are blooming every where.”
Mother pointed to me.
“And you. You are only one of the branches that will
bring down the age old tree with its vines
wrapped around our walls.”
Her husband slithered away into their room and shut the door
In a manner that was neither harmful nor condescending.
It was merely a manner which reflected a hard night.
A need for some rest.
Mother walked into the kitchen and matted her hair down
With a pancake.
She slunk onto the ground and let tears roll off her cheeks
Like pinwheels.

Dust bunnies and pills were lining the underneath of the cabinets.

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