Once upon an evening dreamy, reclined beyond conscience unseemly
Clean-laundry piled shotgun beside me burst forth with Terri Ann’s allure.
Her voice apparent, yet quite untimely, bubbled with laughter, light and finely-
Tuned for my perception, winding her time, which ended years before
A decade before, less or more. Is my mom’s soul now laundry lore?
I’m just baked. I must ignore.
We watched cartoons and tripped fantastic, Kush-soaked reflections, quite elastic.
Asked laundry-mother what traumatic lesson her spirit had in store?
Her laughter warmed peripherals, soft linen, looming lavender smells
Her soothing hearth of laughter tells me, unseen, with heart a-pure
Soothing song sang as she gathered with mother’s heart, rang, not demure
Laundry said, “You must endure.”
I laughed at her linen reprisal as if she sensed my suicidal,
Un-suspenseful thought-revivals. I asked clean laundry, “Is there more?”
For to suffer life in silence, its smearing rife with leering violence,
Abysmal veering into blindness; is that our fate, and nothing more?
Subliminal closed-mindedness? Should I get baked and just ignore?
Spit at fate, and what’s in-store?
My laundry-mother laughed disarming laughs, belying life’s alarming
Nature, nurturing and charming me, unanswered, insecure.
Her non-answers thrust upon me like a thirst quenched by tsunami
Voicing visions far beyond me, unseen, she sings with heart a-pure
She stings my heart, weary, unsure, with momma’s voice ringing a cure
Laundry sang, “You must endure.”
Written for dVerse Poetics’ The voice of the monster, hosted by Björn. I know I’m a day late, but I thought I’d share an actual ghost story that happened to me about a week before Halloween, when my mom visited me during a low point. I’m agnostic, but I believe my mom dropped by to kick my ass, get me to stop feeling for myself and keep grinding for the fam. Perhaps in my case, the monster was my depression? (Who am I kidding? It’s almost always my monster.)
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