It's Still Life

A Stream of Consciousness Behind A Poet’s Window

Standing at the kitchen sink. Behind a window with blinds. I feel a bit camouflaged. A bit aloof. The view is timeless. Nothing much changes around here, except that the neighbour’s boxwood plant is dying. It’s going bald like Stanley Tucci.

I wouldn’t mind Tucci cooking a meal for me. Something Italian. With sunny yellow butter. I’d probably have to wash up though. My sink is a primordial mix of hot water, soap and bits of dinner. I hate when he tosses a knife into the primordial mix; it sinks to the bottom and waits for your fingers.

My mother always wanted a yellow house. I don’t know why I just thought of that, but facts being facts she wanted yellow. She got a blue-grey instead. Dad picked the colour. Mum said it matched his eyes.

I had a yellow bedroom. I loved waking up to the colour of sunshine. A girl needs that when she lives in a constantly misted-grey climate, where there’s cloud and rain for three days and sun for one. Weather always knocks me back a bit, unless it’s sunny yellow.

Written for Linda Hill’s Saturday Stream of Consciousness “sink”. AI Digital Artwork created using AI Midjourney. Imagery and prose ©Misky 2023.