Well, this is sure to be a humiliating post. One of my first attempts at poetry.
Any criticism and advice would be greatly appreciated.
1994.
Written April 13, 2006
I remember a time when I
painted my lips with
cherry red Popsicle
and danced on the coffee table
in my mother’s high-heeled shoes
to a song on VH1.
A time (under a purpleblue sky)
when I played The mommy
and you played The daddy
and you read the New York Times upside down
while I scrubbed dishes with
imaginary water.
We were seven years old
and made mud pies
instead of accusations,
drew pictures
instead of sides,
gave each other dandelions
instead of dirty stares;
And you pushed me on the swings
instead of over the edge –
and out of your life.
We learned quite a few things
when we were younger, like
how to play pretend and how to
kill someone with a plastic sword.
