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
preserved in amber made of orange plastic
And I was relieved to leave

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


About alabamagoddamn

To learn about me please see, "What's a Southern Girl Doing in the World?" on my homepage.
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