Big tree, look at me.
I want to turn you into a grandfather clock.
I want to make you into a mean memory:
Mom is beautiful, bow-legged, and bound
by Dad in the dining room. He scowls
at his plate full of canned foods. I dig
my nails into my knees. Later they yell
in the front yard like we can’t hear them.
Grandad limps to his recliner. Slippers,
CNN, soft green-like-a-tree cardigan,
not a word. She cries. Tiny pink roses,
vanilla buttercream. We eat the Costco cake.
Scrape forks across porcelain plates.
Now, I want to wear the perfect cardigan
and lay on polished floors while soft
strobing bells tell hours. I want to tell
stories to myself in a little book bound
with pink ribbons. I think a story
could save you if you tell it
at the right time. Like the grandfather
clock in dark wood. How it stood silently
until it told the hour.
~~
Harmony Mooney is an elementary school teacher and writer living on the North Coast of California with her husband, two cats, and two dogs. Her work appears in The Dread Literary Review, Hare’s Paw Literary Journal, Still Here Magazine, The North Coast Journal and 50-Word Stories.
