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a print above the kitchen sink :: lucia cherciu

by on April 21, 2017

Wet with colors,
bursting, opening up
like compliments, the petunias
my sister has multiplied from cuttings
cascade over her balcony
on the sixth floor.

Only the purple petunias
ease up the tension,
take away the otherwise monastic look,
the postulant air of her rooms,
crumbling shelves of books,
loads of laundry dried on the line
waiting for the implacable
torment of the iron on a hot day.

Only the petunias erase the backdrop
of the buzz in the kitchen,
her carrying groceries on two buses
and up the stairs,
perfume of velvet
at she rests her aching back against the wall
respite from her punitive list of chores,
a Georgia O’Keeffe print
above her kitchen sink.

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