Colour Palette of a Childhood
blink and you might miss it
first bee sting, scraped knee
juice dripping down your chin
fresh lemon floor cleaner, chairs stacked on the kitchen table
peas right off the pod in grandma’s garden
dandelions in a cup
eyelids closed against the sunlight
candy for a quarter
the paisley floor of an inflatable pool
“do you think it’s gonna rain?”
grass daddy keeps like a religion
banana popsicles in the emergency room
muddy boots, “not in the house please”
the nice bathroom towels in the closet
sprinkles on a birthday cupcake
hanging flower basket with a dove’s nest in it
meatloaf and mashed potatoes
Christmas tree lights and a Mickey Mouse carol book
the seatbelt when the van swerves
nothing
and then everything
About the Creator
M.B. Arthur
Immersive loves & lifetimes - I write to heal what hurts.
Keep reading
More stories from M.B. Arthur and writers in Poets and other communities.
I Am a Prisoner who Dreams of Prisons
The dream always starts the same: I feel the cold bite of wind gnawing through clothes entirely inadequate to protect from the weather and I realize I am standing in line. Ahead of me and behind me are other inmates, identified by the burgundy scrubs we were issued upon arrival. I don't know where we're going.
By Kyle Cejka6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
You captured such a specific yet universal sort of experience. Great poem!