Let It Play

 

My son’s record player skips

years off my life, drowning port

holes in my summer mouth

He lays Playboys, like Spring,

on top of the dresser

I fold over them

like laundry, my toys earmarked

in the bedside drawer, my own mother’s

jewelry still locked inside her poodle

skirt, spinning 45’s with her brother

on the lunchroom floor

My son wears red garters

in the college courtyard,

my eyes dancing to the spin

of his blonde locks; my vinyl mouth

unfurls in his head - he twirls time in

crisp subversive two-steps, drumming

forward - while I nod in the corner

sucking lollipop fingers, waiting hard for

the center to crack

Reviews

[Hannah]

I love the imagery and the meaning behind said imagery, it really sets the tone of the poem and fits well with the dancing and spinning and twirling, which to make resonates as change, a challenge, "waiting hard for the center to crack" like somehow anticipating a shift amidst the steadiness of the spinning as a metaphor for change. Brilliant!

[Kristina Moulaison]

Yes, excellent...thanks so much, Hannah!

[Richard Layne]

all this spinning! i like the repeat imagery you've used here with the records and the twirling. i will say though that the ending lost me :(

[Kristina Moulaison]

That's okay, this is decidedly surrealist. I think I am "the center" here, the lollipop is the kind where you suck until you get to the middle and chew, this is me gleaning lessons from a 20 year old about openness, cracking the protective shell I keep around me.

[Kristina Moulaison]

Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts! I appreciate it.

[Gabriel]

Good poem! I was confused at first if this was the mother or the son talking but it's good!

[Kristina Moulaison]

Thanks, I added a word to try and clarify. I see what you mean. I appreciate you reading and commenting!