M.J. Iuppa
Intimate Places
Room to room, sheets tossed over mullioned mirrors &
overstuffed chairs. The dining table still set for company;
someone’s coming at any moment, she suspects, peeking
out the side window to see if she heard a car’s tires rolling
on the driveway’s gravel. Nothing. Broken clock. Leaky
faucet. A fat bee’s slow rise & fall against the grimy kitchen
window. She thinks it’s threatening. The way it can’t quite
figure its way out. She finds a piece of yellowed paper with
numbers on it, and snuffs out the bee, making sure there’s
no chance of resurrection. The dusty air thickens.
Almost, Positive
M’s daughter ‘little m’ liked to play with Barbie dolls. She was told
to take care of her precious ones, so her daughter would get to play
with them, like she was playing with her mom’s dolls, especially her
pretty blonde Ginny, with moving joints and a white rabbit fur coat,
hat,and muff; and her Chatty Cathy’s constant conversation peppered
with “I love you.” It made both of them dreamy in the worst way;
neither one of them wanted to give up what they were preserving.
It had something to do with keeping things perfect, or so they thought.
M.J. Iuppa's fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017). For the past 30 years she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.
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Intimate Places
Room to room, sheets tossed over mullioned mirrors &
overstuffed chairs. The dining table still set for company;
someone’s coming at any moment, she suspects, peeking
out the side window to see if she heard a car’s tires rolling
on the driveway’s gravel. Nothing. Broken clock. Leaky
faucet. A fat bee’s slow rise & fall against the grimy kitchen
window. She thinks it’s threatening. The way it can’t quite
figure its way out. She finds a piece of yellowed paper with
numbers on it, and snuffs out the bee, making sure there’s
no chance of resurrection. The dusty air thickens.
M’s daughter ‘little m’ liked to play with Barbie dolls. She was told
to take care of her precious ones, so her daughter would get to play
with them, like she was playing with her mom’s dolls, especially her
pretty blonde Ginny, with moving joints and a white rabbit fur coat,
hat,and muff; and her Chatty Cathy’s constant conversation peppered
with “I love you.” It made both of them dreamy in the worst way;
neither one of them wanted to give up what they were preserving.
It had something to do with keeping things perfect, or so they thought.
M.J. Iuppa's fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017). For the past 30 years she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.