In my mother’s house
the refrigerator was dotted
by little plastic fruit
and the phone number
of a plumber we had once used,
my sisters latest drawing
presaging a career
in health service management
a shopping list
and my brother’s report card
showing exemplary effort
but a weakness in spelling
and my upcoming appointment
at the orthodontist.

In my house
the refrigerator is dotted
with little words
from Shakespeare
and Chaucer
and those of Corso
and Ginsberg.
In passing we arrange
them in odes
to everyday life
and dreams of nights
of passion but
cometh has slipped
under the drip tray.

First published in The Creekside Magazine, Issue 1, October 2024
https://creeksidemag.wordpress.com/in-my-mothers-house/