Winning Poem: 12-Hour Couplets Contest
Mother
yes, imagine it. what, on accident,
i took
from you. the apartment bright and
piled with books
rising from the floor like hills.
flowers from a friend on the
windowsill.
and you, in the shower, humming,
washing your hair.
your beautiful long hair.
imagine me unborn, my brother
sitting in his old bedroom,
home for the summer, picking his
nails. his guitar untuned.
you love him. the red that shines
through his beard
reminds you of your father. the
rest isn't clear.
in the kitchen, your mother calling
on the phone,
worrying at you. hoping you're
home.
you unborn, your mother on roller
skates,
a waitress serving milkshakes.
her mother, raving mad, had visions
of terrible futures
and made them known. stitching
stories like sutures.
her mother on the telephone,
promising wounds.
they're coming, she said, just you
wait. soon.
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