The afternoon light brightening
the table and the yellow tulips
The Frankenstein poster on the wall
seems less macabre
The nature of the monster revealed
in its spectrum of white light
The sound of time passing
days summed up in synesthesia
the warmth of the home
it’s nothing but a euphemism for nostalgia
of the cold coffee in the kitchen,
the trail of the wet glass on the table,
bread crumbs like a little shire,
the artificial mist of a hot bath
Sustained tones and murmurs,
the daily chat between kitchen appliances,
The neighbour’s footsteps and his squeaky furniture,
the kid on the second floor laughing out loud,
Taking deep breaths while your chest bounces under the cushion
The sun goes down, and the shadows fall
about the cactus and the pottery skull
shadows casting sad stories
while you hide behind the sheets
This is when the afternoon ends
And the petals savour the last sip of light
strange humour set in the corners
and the sound of misty voices
start to fade
whispering away
Cherry Adam 