sheets with yellow daisies

by makeshiftashtray

I understood my mother more
stirring
dinner in
a thrift shop pot.

bruises turn green before yellow,
before a purple sky,
I counted raindrops
filled to the brim of yesterday’s whiskey

we found two four leaf clovers
in a black polka dot dress
strands of my hair
boxes drawn with the wind,

you didn’t mind
tears on dirt,
scooped away in between
your slip and skirt,

like clouds for eyes.