It had felt the slap and
tickle of feet —
bare and wet
the cat, the mat,
the thud, the pat
and now, its colour drained,
it had settled under the steady stroke of just two pairs.
She knew this blue.
It had played beyond her lids
while chopping fruit, and spreading bread
or hanging clothes
while gazing out the kitchen window,
descaling fish
defrosting the fridge,
leaking time.
At 4am,
more paint than skin
she is rocked to sleep
her toenails dreaming in blue
and wakes, excited –
shrieks at the scene
it was not meant to be like this,
so again she mixes, tastes, examines
and goes to sleep
anchoring the room with her paint–splashed clothes.
On the third morning
knowing that the colour matches the one that lives in her
head
she isn’t surprised to see
the bath tub sailing down the corridor
the towels waving behind.
Lisa D'Onofrio
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