Peeling rhymes,
Sour sweet and leaping drops,
My air,
And my head-
It must be me-
That doll on the cross in my great-grandmother’s office
Where my sister once peeled an orange,
To the left of the trash.
I wonder why she left peels scattered on hydrophilic wood
It is funny,
How this goes,
A moment- there was one
With the door- I stubbed my sister’s toe
I can never go, back there.
For whatever reason,
And another.
The sweet floors pleading
And the ambience of the ceiling leaking,
And the cheerios for dinner,
And the cold oatmeal,
I wait at the front door,
Power rangers will assemble,
Breakfast for dinner docking,
And the sad wail,
I wonder if oranges my sister still peeled.
I am sorry rocking chair,
For all the rocking nights
I hope you were warm
I ate the bark the we painted, sister
On that stack of couches
In a room for cars
I remember a red felt couch
And the departure of a peace of me,
To find a eternal seat, and
Lizards scurry under a floor, board
Licking through cracks sweet sap of regret,
And the wall is always weeping