Poem: House Life

 House Life

in detergent, dishwater, cups and plates,

or when i make lemonade,

gremlins bubble up,

 

too many to appease,

neglected and miffed.  they are

the resonance of my dormant cello.

 

i hide

when they peep from my apron,

or frolic in the travertine shine

of the kitchen countertop.

 

gremlins, yes, invisible 

but gnawing and cloying,

the same honey lathered on every smile,

like plunging my tongue into lard.

==========================

7/19/24 ... mucho more changes. .. this is a projective poem, based on what I've listened to, read, movies, etc.  I don't know if it's ethical for me to take this perspective, but I didn't think about that when I wrote it.  Maybe it's okay, because, say, novels are, all the time, having to create and behaviorize characters of various genders, ages, orientations, nationalities, etc.   Maybe it isn't okay, maybe it's like a White writer lamenting from the perspective of a Black character ... which also is questionable ... ugh ... confused

10/29/23 ... I tried to make this poem a little more engaging, changing a couple phrases.

Inspired by The Feminine Mystique