Some things go unnoticed, but then
again others don’t
How easy you are.
You simply
throw a patchwork blanket
on a dull saggy
sofa to reveal
a spread
from a hardcover.
The way
you brush
the crumbs
from your chest
like a
strum of my guitar –
pitch
perfect, a B chord.
You unbandage
an orange in one roll.
The bitter
pith you compost,
garnish cocktails
with cellulite skin.
Slowly you
pick my stiches,
unravel all
of my scars.
If I wear
thicker socks
your shoes
fit to my feet.
We wanted
to be adults that spring
We wanted to be adults that spring.
I hid our freckles with
powder, teased and sprayed your hair.
We walked a foot taller, spoke
of current events
with a tone that was so in the
know. I borrowed all opinions.
You explained how to use a liner
to draw fleshy lips on my skin,
and mine looked real plump
until your mum made us line our stomachs
with bread and peanut butter,
and my appetite smudged the pink.
She told us dancing at fifteen
is an invitation to be anything,
and also; that anyone will
watch,
and to water down our drinks,
and by doing that
we could have the latest of
curfews and remember the things that matter.
She held my gaze and I thought
she noticed my lip,
and if she did, she said
nothing about it at all,
except we should check the
mirror before we left for the party.
There was a pile of papers on
the kitchen bench,
she eyed them, and then
shrugged,
said her signature could wait yet
one more day.
And when she dropped us on the
corner of Simon’s street
she idled the car as we walked
to his house,
and I noticed she turned the
headlights to high beam,
just when I needed the
spotlight on anything but me.
Bel Schenk is the author of three poetry collections - Urban Squeeze (Ginninderra Press, 2003), Ambulances & Dreamers (Wakefield Press, 2008) and Every Time You Close Your Eyes (Wakefield Press, 2014). She has been published in various journals and magazines both in Australia and overseas.
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