2013 Salveson Prize in Poetry
I am
not what you say
though my scrambled eggs
are always runny,
corners of wheat toast brown,
Purple and yellow
are complimentary colors—
I forgot this
just as I failed to remember
it was cranberry you wanted
not orange juice.
Our front staircase
now holds carpet casualties—
spilled egg,
shards of the kitchen china,
small pieces: gold, red, blue.
You woke, sitting up on your hands
commotion called you from sleep
my failed attempt
of breakfast in bed.
I am not a disappointment—
ribbons, balloons, streamers
handwritten notes on napkins
paper signs happy mother’s day
Forgiveness speaks loudest
in our shared fork,
two lip prints on the orange juice glass.
Reblogged this on Marisa Donnelly.
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