
My Mother's Cupboard
by JORDAN MERENICK
was her canvas
i remember a finely
craved fig leaf
etched across each door.
here...
she could unstrap
the plumb line
her ancestors had yoked
around her waist
about what a woman should be,
an orange could be origami
a packet of cigarettes chewed
down to their earthy brown stubs
without any dry-cleaned smiles.
outside,
my father had certain parameters
greasy meals
bottled emotions
a spotless house
this required a rather adroit
conjuring
upon her part.
once i saw the back of her tongue
bruised & pickled
like the produce we had
in the basement
ever since y2k jutting out the back of her heel.
before i could scream
she blew a daisy
out of the back of her throat
and gave it to me
so i’d sleep
since a loud child
would be another mark against her...
Jordan Merenick is a poet from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He enjoys creating works of art, going on adventures with his wife, and hanging out with his family's animals. This is his first major publication.