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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.

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