A Song for Merricat
-or maybe this is for Constance
The piano pushes the rhythm,
in the swells, in the diminishing moments,
the notes laid out in pulsing precision
as we huddle ruined in the house
hidden and hushed
with scavenged sugar bowls
and memories we neither one
will mention. I am waiting for mushrooms
and you are waiting for something sweeter like
macerated blackberries bubbled in pie
and browned at the edges
except I am not allowed to cook
and you are not allowed to give up
the lie. I have buried that hope
with all the rest
within your breast
and there you will keep it,
and love me.
Poet's Note: The prompt was wildness. We were encouraged to dance, to take a bubble bath, to let loose. Well, before I even read the prompt, I had managed the bubble bath and the dancing both (I am a notoriously uncoordinated dancer...and thus keep it to those odd private moments when I've got Pandora pumping out the music and...yeah...very glad no one could see).
The other thing I did today was read Shirley Jackson's We Have Always Lived In The Castle while - by pure coincidence - eating a sugared blackberry sundae...totally added to the atmosphere in reading, let me tell you. But, anyway, long story short...the book was lingering in my head as I sat to write and I had this really awesome piano music going...and this happened.
Maybe it's not quite as wild as the prompt asked...but it's what I got from my day. Book totally should have had an epilogue where Constance serves Merricat a mushroom omelet....just saying.