Yellow

Sitting on the edge of the horizon

we stared down at the sun

warming the face of the other side of the earth.

Each of us unfolded personal suns in our palms,

sinking teeth into citrus

so that the tender segments burst

and ran between our fingers.

We drifted away on umbrellas, my mother and I,

dandelion seeds, our grief left behind

in cardboard boxes,

gone up in flames—

 

You drifted about the house like a ghost.

I laughed at your brittle bones,

sticky blood, tangled synapses,

yellowing skin draped

over birdcage ribs. Dementia,

you said I tore wings from butterflies—

grinning, your bony fingers

locked around my mother’s neck.

I said I wanted to peal your skin off

like an orange—rotten—rotten—

your whispers hang stale in the air.

 

Forsythia seemed neon against the vacant sky

and the funeral dresses aired out their cobwebs

drifting about headless

asking why I laughed.

I laughed—I laughed because—because—

you were yellow.

 

Author's Note

This poem is addressed to my grandmother... who had raging dementia.

Reviews

[BeckyBoodles]

It started out nostalgic, and grew into something darker and more complicated. I loved it. You described dementia so well.
"I laughed-I laughed because-because-
you were yellow."
That line frightened me a little, haha, not because it's odd, but because it described her insanity so well.

[The Wave]

"i laughed because you were yellow."
the way how you said this made me laugh at the end just because it was such an unexpected answer.

the second stanza is obviously the one carrying more emotions than the others. everything is said for a reader to visualize, and the visualization on this one packs a punch.
i was a bit confused with the who's, it seemed the "you's" and "I's" didnt match up."your bony fingers locked around my mother's neck." should it be "my bony fingers..."?

this was sick....

but written well.
good job.