things that remind me of my grandmother

 

 

 

 

 

my stutters trip over my stammers

who wait patiently by the door,

as they heard the thump of footsteps,

an hour before he even thought to come here.

 

anxiety inches through my veins,

slowly creeping from manageable to...

 

it's hardly fair to put a label on it,

like that it makes me completely useless?

that the very prospect of his arrival

leaves me a gelatinous lump on my couch.

 

 

i fixed the doorbell, specially,

and here it is, that awful clang

that makes me think of mausoleums

 

or my grandmother's house.

 

or maybe it's my grandmother's house

that makes me think of mausoleums.

 

but, wait!  that means he's here!

 

 

speed to the door so fast,

a streak of black and blonde

flies past whatever flies are on my walls,

though i'm a clean person,

 

so it's likely there aren't even any.

 

and i wait.  so as to not seem so nervous

over his arrival.

 

but fast enough so that

he won't ring that awful doorbell again,

why did i get that fixed?

 

 

open the door and here come those stammers,

they were waiting for me the whole time,

you see, and i just, stammer splat,

out across the floor, on to his feet,

 

my words trip over each other in a rush

to greet him like i ought to.

 

an apology stuttered out,

but he ignores it, laughs,

and kisses me on the cheek as if i'm being cute.

 

it was the doorbell, wasn't it?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[schanzilla]

i am absolutely digging this poem. i like the story told and the imagery involved. this is pure gold from the first line on.