Thursday, 19 May 2011

Great-Grandma's house- g clair

in the mugginess of a mid-August night without air conditioning
on the second floor of an ancient cape, a rewired black electric fan oscillates while the unmistakable scent of must wafts through a zippered cotton pillowcover...
Hundred year old striped ticking struggles against the shifting weight of tired duck feathers, long since retired and unable to fluff with the punch of a determined fist.
Against my sleeping eyelids, tiny quills poke back like angry needles into a pin cushion
and I, squawking to half-consciousness, shield my eyes against the attack.

How did they ever do this?

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