#catalogpoem

[mockpoet]

The Soft Hours

This is for the glow of the phone screen, a silent moon in a dark room. This is for the tabs left open, digital echoes of what we sought. This is for the playlist on endless loop, a soundtrack to the unsaid. This is for the quiet scroll, the hum of a thousand distant lives. This is for the oversized sweatshirt, a tender armour against the chill. This is for the rain against the glass, blurring the harsh edges of the world. This is for the forgotten tea, cold comfort in a ceramic shell. This is for the whispered name into an empty space. This is for the almost-sent message, the weight of unspeakable things. This is for the slow unraveling, when the day finally loosens its grip. This is for every quiet ache, and the small, stubborn hope that persists. This is for the hours we keep only for ourselves.

[rexcareyarrasmith]

On the Rag: Olathe, KS 1916

On the Rag: Olathe, KS 1916 By Rex Carey Arrasmith

Ruby at ten loves her daddy most of all Ruby at ten loves her dead mommy too she tries Ruby at ten loves her dead mommas sack of rags Ruby at ten loves their smell of lye and lavender Ruby at ten loves to count two red five yellow six periwinkle Ruby at ten loves her seven indigo rags best of all daddy saved mommas indigo dress Ruby at ten loves her dead momma’s indigo dress she twirls and twirls outside on the grass Ruby at ten loves her four older brothers she wakes before the rooster to bake them biscuits Ruby at ten loves her nine white chooks she scolds for pecking when snatching their eggs Ruby at ten loves her cat that twists and snuggles around her ankles while she churns the butter it waits to lick her fingers from what sloshes

Ruby at twelve hates her body most of all Ruby at twelve hates her brothers teasing “they’re called breasts!” Ruby at twelve hates the blood that scared her when it first started Ruby at twelve hates that no one told her she’s never wanted her dead momma before Ruby at twelve hates that she thought she was dying when she showed daddy her bloody hands Ruby at twelve hates her blood on momma’s rags her daddy says momma should be here Ruby at twelve hates being reminded that her birth killed momma Ruby at twelve hates washing her blood off Momma’s rags “get used to it baby.” Ruby at twelve hates knowing this will happen every month hates that her brothers know too Ruby at twelve hates the smell of lye and lavender

Ruby at fourteen misses her brothers most of all Ruby at fourteen misses her cat while she churns butter for a family in the next county Ruby at fourteen misses taking care of her own house daddy has a new wife with dull rags Ruby at fourteen misses school her half day off on Sunday for church will have to do Ruby at fourteen misses being teased and taken care of during her time on the rag Ruby at fourteen misses the smell of lavender Mrs. P has lye and rosemary there’s a creek instead of a tub full of pink water Ruby at fourteen misses crude jokes and laughter Mrs. P has five baby’s under five Ruby at fourteen misses her books she makes up stories for Mrs. P’s baby’s Ruby at fourteen misses going to the creek with Mrs. P big news, baby six Ruby at fourteen misses her childhood she wears momma’s indigo dress to church

Ruby at sixteen loves her kitchen most of all Ruby at sixteen loves their farm with fields of wheat, oats, and sunflowers Ruby at sixteen loves the Montgomery and Wards catalogue and Kimberly-Clark Ruby at sixteen loves the smell of lye and lavender for the diapers Ruby at sixteen loves her baby girl and her husband he loved that indigo dress Ruby at sixteen loves never having to use and clean her rags, Kotex made from Kansas cotton disposable Kansas cotton Ruby at sixteen loves baking pies for the church auxiliary she learned from Mrs. P Ruby at sixteen loves her sack of rags each one tells a story she starts to sew Ruby at sixteen loves her quilt made out of cut up rags red yellow periwinkle and indigo Ruby at sixteen, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, now just in memory loves telling her daughter stories remember