Ode to the Wet Towel on the Floor | Alicia Elkort
Sunlight blooms akimbo
through the window
where you’ve left wet towels
on the bathroom floor, your mother
is in the next room, the candle
you lit for the bath
burns a black “s” rises
your mother is dead
your mother has died
she’s on the phone in the next room
you can smell her perfume
your mother hands you
a platter of grilled chicken
marinated with tamari & lemon
your mother puts the chicken in the broiler
asks you to water the violets
hang the spider plants
where the sun will find them
the cantilevered windows open
trails of jasmine float on summer air, cold
rain falls like a broken spigot
the air is chill, fog is thick
soup simmers in a red pot
you’re on the couch
you’re on the floor
your mother says I love you
your mother never says I love you
your mother is a myth
ordinary, chews her food
like any other you hear her high
heels walking around the house
toast on the plate, coffee
in the cup, no one is home
you are eleven years old
you are forty years old
your mother holds you
your mother never holds you
says you are beautiful
the sound of you never escapes her lips
your mother is never home
she forgets your birthday
she remembers—brings you roses, sweet
peas & a basket from the pueblo
near where you were born
you were never born
you were born to parents
who fill a merry house
with cherry & pomegranate
flats of strawberries, the cream
is white, the cream is fresh,
whiskey pours into shot glasses,
lights are on, lights are never on
moldy soup is in the fridge
no one is home
your mother, mermaid
your mother, nightingale
your mother, no one
you find a photo of your mother
the day she married your father
there are no photos
you were never born,
but you find a photo
from when she was five
your heart breaks for the child/
woman she was never allowed
to be, you want to step through time
hold her close, your arms, her arms—
teach her how to love you
your mother is dead
your mother is in the next room
drinking black tea with sugar
& lemon, she asks you
to bring her a biscuit, you bring
five biscuits with dark chocolate
you bring her no biscuits
your mother is dead
the black “s” of the dead
candle rises, the towels are wet
on the floor, they are drying
on the hook, the towels—
still in the linen closet
there is no bath, there is no house
the house is filled with art
soup simmers in a blue pot
the night reverses itself, rain
returns the sky is black the night
is cold the sky pink, the fireplace lit
whiskey flames in a glass
wet towels on the bathroom floor
remind you of your mother.
about the author:
Alicia Elkort’s first book of poetry, “A Map of Every Undoing” was published in 2022 by Stillhouse Press with George Mason University, after winning their book contest. Alicia’s poetry has been nominated several times for the Pushcart, Best of the Net, and the Orison Anthology, and her work appears in numerous journals and anthologies. She reads for Tinderbox Poetry Journal where she also writes reviews. She works as a Life Coach. For more info or to watch her two video poems: https://aliciaelkort.mystrikingly.com/