Scratchywarm

Night time comes
and I         scoot   into bed
and little gnomes
pull the covers over my head
and scratch my skin til I’m warm

Today was Sunday
My mother fried pancakes
and cooked nasty hotcoffee
while morning bluelight swirled
on my bedroom wall
like a palace
underwater

That afternoon
the front door was open
cuz my mother was gardening
She makes roses
and they
make her happy
So I helped her kill snails
and sprinkle ladybugs like
parmesan cheese
over tiny red rosebuds

At dusk we skinned our knees
under the greatbig basketball hoop
Could she hear our screeching,
while she heated up fishsticks and drank
sour yellow wine?
Soft piano notes from
the CD player floated across the kitchen
like dreamy jellyfish
--or maybe they clattered-- 
over the hardwood floor
like       loose      change

Tonight my mother tells me a story
about spiders
On different nights
it makes my skin feel creepy-crawley
           but tonight
I just feel scratchywarm
             and mysterious

My mother turns out the light
but doesn’t go to bed
I don’t know where she goes but
it was Good Night, she said so--
I forget because the air is fuzzy

Mysterious I am and yet
      mysterious she      too     must be



2016