things kept

In a car in Texas with blue velour seats you said
My shoes were ugly and no one would love me
Would want to be my sister
Your sister did not defend me, for the first time in my little life
Was she defenseless against you?
Instead she scolded my response, teenaged and crude
Said you were just teasing
I felt betrayed

I liked my shoes

Your house was strange
sterile, static
suspended
preserved in amber made of orange plastic
And I was relieved to leave
But

I still cried when I found out you died
Because I know she would have
If she’d still been alive

You liked scotch which I will never
I keep your recipe for sour pickled peaches, taken on a stiff card in her loopy handwriting, although I don’t know why anyone would do that to a peach
All soft and warm
So easily bruised
You did not understand me
Nor I you
And I don’t know why I keep it
I guess
we just hang onto things sometimes

Advertisements

About alabamagoddamn

To learn about me please see, "What's a Southern Girl Doing in the World?" on my homepage.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s