Domestic Madness

The pot simmering on the stove
really should be boiling, but
baby needs changing, and
He-who-is-charged-
with-watching-the-children
is asleep in his chair…

Where to lay the infant –
her soiled and sodden diaper
threatening its own release –
when her siblings
have dragged all the bedding –
fort-intended, now abandoned
under foot?

Turkey is in the oven
legs trussed, flesh
buttered and salted…
Baby’s skin is red
her squirming legs
noncompliant

Dog offers his presence
curious nose intervening…
I leave the wriggling bundle
to dispose of offending nappy –
images of dog mouthing contents
beyond current capacity

Children’s giggles signal
misadventure, as bath water
spills into the room,
husband stirring,
“Smells good!” says he
pushing buttons
on the TV remote

Ankle deep in water
contents of pot now burning,
awareness dawns –
the forgotten baby
is now missing…
madness achieved.

(Another dream inspired nonsensical poem. Image my own)



Paralysis

Paralysis desecrates floorboards
leaves me suspended…
the skeletons of lost dreams
sprawled out beneath me…
disordered

I am powerless
against the nightly haunts:
a dispirited youth
a righteous mother,
that lonesome child…

Judgment has a long shadow
and slits for eyes…
I don blinders –
tunnelled between
guilt and loathing

This onslaught,
this psychic terrorism
mocks my immobility
forces me to mine
forgotten pith

Survival, instinctual,
steels against the assault
raises prayer
as antidote

An armless attempt
to assert will over fear –
hoping strength restores
vulnerability’s war cry.

(Image mine)

Red Shoes

Mama says wear red shoes
Gives a woman power

But I wobble and stumble
six inches makes me tower

So I trade in my stilettos
for a crimson pair of docs
and much to Ma’s dismay
some days I don crocs

It’s not the shoes that determine might
I tell her, but the soul in the fight.

(Photo: Mom and red accessories – shoes no doubt match. She is posing with her baby brother.)