Memories from the Attic

Memories from the Attic

A Poem by Kelley Quinn

I remember my father’s

dry hands combing through

wet tangles of my hair,

just like my mother would.


I remember lying about eating

The vegetables gone soft and cold

Beneath my sweating legs.


I remember porcelain poultry,

in the shape of tea kettles and

match boxes, dancing in my

little hands on grandma’s tile floor.


I remember my sister

enticing me to run away with her,

promising candy and freedom,

and me, afraid to be fearless, telling my mother

and sending my sister into a silence for years.


I remember sitting in a parked car

in my parent’s garage, kissing a boy

who was not supposed to be there and

who was not supposed to touch me.


I remember my sister, carrying a

luke-warm clump of fur,

telling us,

She’s dead.


I remember sneaking

through unscreened windows onto

snow-covered porches,

the quiet crunch of still snow rippling

through the air, afraid it would

reach my parents before

I reached the woods.



I remember my sister

whispering devotions to me

in her car, late on a school night,

reading verses under the quiet glow

of a dollar store flashlight.

An unread sticky note left in

An unopened bible.


I remember God was there,

in the ocean I wanted

so desperately to love me back

And yet.


I remember my mother, crying,

with a fly swatter in

her hand and the imprint

of cheap plastic on my lower back.


I remember water - foggy

and not complete.

Something metal fell

from my palm as I gasped - afraid

at my own daring.

Or simply,

afraid.


I remember a friend,

so frightened by love she

drowned herself in wine and

called me, desperately, to tell her

it would be okay.
I had no words and all she could say was

It broke me.


I remember a face

with eyes closing like the

ocean waves,

breath escaping her lips in a jagged

rush until I timed mine with hers,

allowing myself, finally,

to breathe.

© 2017 Kelley Quinn


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Featured Review

To me, each verse is an exquisitely crafted vignette that leads flawlessly to the next. The progression is superb, the whole poem just so very, very good.

My sister is older than me by a little over two years and your poem brought back Memories of how we sometime were; and I cannot say anything other than I so genuinely enjoyed reading this.

Beccy.

Posted 3 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

Lady Kelley,
It is a rare few whose poetry makes me wish I knew them personally, as does yours.
I could wander off into a plethora of appealing technical aspects, but that would be mere words, and feelings, emotions, a sweet array of thoughts are what I'm about … in the moment.
This piece graces the page with such a uniquely authentic caress of wistful nostalgia as to invoke a deep yearning for my youthful years' recollections, that lends a sense of poignant loneliness –– a gently wistful longing, if you will, and your picture choice, to arouse the mood, is sheer perfection.

My words may confuse, but I wish not … this one, seems, will haunt for a good, long while.
Thank you for this moment shared and gifted; I love you softly for your poetry! ⁓ Richard 🍃

Posted 2 Years Ago


All those memories stored up there in the attic brains! Some are wonderful, spending hours going through the neatly strung packages that bring a smile . . . some need packing up tight or better yet taken down and trashed. Kelley, a keeper of a poem.
Tom

Posted 2 Years Ago


Going into my favorites right now. :)

Posted 2 Years Ago


To me, each verse is an exquisitely crafted vignette that leads flawlessly to the next. The progression is superb, the whole poem just so very, very good.

My sister is older than me by a little over two years and your poem brought back Memories of how we sometime were; and I cannot say anything other than I so genuinely enjoyed reading this.

Beccy.

Posted 3 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on September 27, 2017
Last Updated on September 27, 2017

Author

Kelley Quinn
Kelley Quinn

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