Pink, before she found lavender too
a paradox, the proper wife
clinging robe on gritty floor
scrubbing scuffed-up, peeling walls
pretty, pin-wheeled petals curled
spinning on the paper.
Opposite within her head
of sweaty dreams
and pushed-up sleeves and
Elouise her daughter’s turtle
lost once again.
The dog is drowning, Shellie screams
long repressed the memories
of grass-stained summer’s cloying heat
and me in nightdress, ribbons sneak fragile movement, window small
enchanted by her water lilies.
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Thank you for reading. Enjoy the weekend! xxx