quiet unlearnings

The white sleeved arms had hands too thin to hold. There was nowhere to walk anyway; no matter what chair she started from.

Rain streaked her bottle thick eyeglasses, the white fingers tried to slip over her eyes but her blinks were a camera shutter; recording, recording. She refused to see what she was told.

The white shoes looked like erasers rubbing the floor though they concealed nothing. Her shutter eyes saw everything.

Voices in white aprons pushing the chairs told her good girls wear white at their weddings.

She wondered if the white made brides just a little bit invisible; maybe made it easier to be good girls. Good girls don’t give the milk away until the cow is bought.

Voices in the yard fluttered the worn white window curtains. She wondered if a fair lady was the same thing as a good girl. She wondered why London bridge was falling down.

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© Kayt Hoch -all rights reserved; see details here for publication / use permission.

the poem quiet unlerarnings by Kayt Hoch was first published in the on-line journal Sonic Boom, Issue 5 - Sholka Shankar, founding editor