He ignored the ache that started to build up in his joints and stayed in a squat;
Away from her eyes, he closed his own and tried to remember breakfast that morning.
How they both danced to the sonorous sound of Sam Cooke pleading his case for loving for sentimental reasons. She loved Sam Cooke.
He squeezed his eyes tighter to stay in the memory of her laugh spilling over the music, shaking her head at the silly way he pretended to be Sam Cooke with the spoon after he licked off the pancake batter she tried so hard to hide from him, but at 9, he was as tall as her hip now- so no such luck.
His arms were starting to ache too, he ignored the pulsing and forced himself to stay in that morning, evading the screaming and scratching of things just before the pancake batter spilled over the countertop like a bad decoration and he was covered in eggshells from the missiles that he wasn’t quick enough to escape. She wasn’t herself anymore.
So he stayed low, continued to press his hands to his ears, like his best friend Eddy told him to, just like the monkey who hears no evil.
“One day, she’ll stop”, Eddy said. “But until then, don’t listen or you’ll never forget what it sounds like when she forgets she doesn’t hate you.”
Did you miss the last Sober Sundays? 👇 Listen here. It’s a short poem.
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