ellen grove

sitting on the linoleum quietly watching the
washing machine spin round and
round. the ones in the states don’t have
that concave window and my
four year-old mind couldn’t get
enough of its hypnotic
spinning. quick, then

i still feel a little entranced just thinking
about that afternoon— the rain hitting the
windowpanes, how that kitchen
always smelled a little sweet. i had my
brand new red wellingtons
on, obsessed with their
black pull handles.

for whatever reason, i recall feeling very
Grown Up, and who knows
what the fuck the rush
was all about.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.