It's Still Life

Ought Not

I’m not sure about the year, but it was the summer that Mum painted the porch stairs emerald green. Greener than jade. And shiny enamel. I thought it looked like Amazon tree frog green. And she hung eight baskets of trailing fuchsias and forget-me-nots from the eaves off the back porch, as if, Dad said, one basket wasn’t enough. And the lily-of-the-valley bloomed under the bowed bay-window, a deep scent that seduced the air with toxic sweetness … like embalming fluid, not that I’d ever smelled it, but I doubt it’s stinky because a dead body goes stinky quick enough. And that summer my little sister taught ants to swim in an old jam jar, and I fell off my bike and cracked a rib. But mostly it was the summer that Laureen’s black Labrador bit me. Twice. As if, Dad said, once wasn’t enough. I mean who names their dog “Ought Not”, and then expects a happy outcome.

Mornings seemed greener
Butter was kilowatt bright
We were ancient clouds

A Haibun poem. Inspired by a prompt from dVerse Poets about siblings. I won’t be posting on dVerse as this piece is a bit off track from the instruction. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.