How to Turn an Idiosyncrasy into a Story
My mother was always pulling up my
socks. Get on with the job, she’d say.
She could’ve run a swank Swiss hotel,
flicked sheets across the bed with
a single smooth backhand stroke.
I didn’t inherit that skill from her.
And she had blisters on her hands
from digging overly ripe compost
into her vegetable garden. Those
blisters popped and bled, but
no one ever heard her complain.
I didn’t inherit toughness
from her either.
My mother kept a well-oiled, red
Swiss Army knife in the junk drawer.
My sister inherited that.
And when my mum just sat idle,
she’d rub her thumb against the
inside of her index finger.
I inherited that from my mother.
For The Poeming Found Poetry Challenge
written for AprilPAD Day 15, (blank) Story, and Napowrimo: Habits you picked up from your parents, and “The Poeming” found poetry challenge. Image from Unsplash. CC:00 and
and shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter © Misky 2021