Making Angels on the Kitchen Floor

I could throw myself down in that familiar place
sniveling dirt like a pig by default, or by decision?
No wonder I’ve become the dissonant daughter
posturing like a pouting child.
More!  Give me (more or less)
the younger, the pinker, the wrinkles smoothed out
for crying out loud. I know you hear me
down on the ground; my toes to heaven,
distress trapped under the small of my back.
Spaghetti hair is splattered and my heart is splayed
on the kitchen floor. You see me
waxing my ways, moving my limbs,
pushing my lungs in and out.
Arms automatically pilot,
steeple and sweep,
My heels know how to bull doze devils
who must churn out a custom fit dress.
Tandem dust bunnies spin and dance
jubilant now
in the place where
I threw myself down
and was stirred afresh by you.

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12 thoughts on “Making Angels on the Kitchen Floor

    1. Pretty sure you won’t leave lotion residue on the planks as evidence like I did & had to answer to my kids for! I laughed & then swiffered, Let us know how goes it for you.

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