she sliced tomatoes if windy inside while looking distressed. I smell tomatoes by mere memories I see a full-figured woman. gems sit stillness. she pulls out an onion. her eyes start to water. a bowel of lettuce waits. she looks up, finally.
she gets pepper in her nose.
a cat is in the kitchen, a tabby,
she adores this cat. it purrs and meows, she gives it a piece of turkey.
I woke up uncheerful looking into
walls, reminded about summer. a little shy, a bit morose, I need to grab
coffee. the lady is cooking breakfast. she looks submissive, acts servile, but
is truly a danger in danger – of self, of sophistry, of strident voices. mother
called her rough. they laughed it off. but both were serious and resistant.
I’ve been undergoing apathy lately,
raw feelings, torpor and debates. if I were clever, I’d take money, and move to
a different Continent … not really, for I might be destroyed, people, all over,
hate out-of-towners.
the woman pulls out biscuits. she
butters them fastly. mother begins to pontificate. I smile. she asks why? I say,
“For no reason at all.” she smirks, sips coffee, and returns to her intensity.
so praised at times, with needs in mind, – why else do we cleave to certain
people?
most folks are catalogued, defined,
worked into a stereotype. maybe social anesthesia to numb our receptors, or
mental currents to enhance our warmth.
the lady is powerful, a powerhouse,
a machine – a bit incautious, but, too, cautious, while listening to softer
winds.
so destitute when I awoke.
the walls are beige. the room is cold.
