Friday Original Poem

Year of Green Jello

In that year of green Jello

And frosted hair

Of hairspray and the polyester-brown, miniature apron you wore to work

Thick with the scent of eggy grease.

You woke us up.

Warm, thin bodies curled against each other at the end of your bed.

Petite sisters, awed in the stifling night air of your bedroom argument.

I remember the tannish, yellow of your sheets,

The tiny dotted daisies,

and lack of headboard.

“Choose,” you said to us.

Our small heads bent like end-of-spring flowers.

Ashamed of your question.

Our answers.

I wonder why he agreed to this.

He must have known.

Oh, that was why.

He wanted it.

Of course we chose you. 

Our pointed knees crawled across those sheets,

Snuggled into your lap.
Whispered nothing aloud.

Gave you your victory.

Then you sent us back to bed.