Kiffany Trevithick

These are the poems, my poems, my masterpieces to share: Kansas Summer Tomatoes Vine ripened blazing red tomatoes Sitting on the kitchen floor with our summer dresses Sprawled out earnestly eager for attention Cutting summer-ripened tomatoes With paring knives, don’t cut your thumb Snip the ends off the peas, don’t cut your thumb do it like me Wash and drain tomato seeds Bright red colanders, do it like me Aging, wrinkly fingers work fast The slam of the screen door And smell of Lava soap on rough hands in the mud room Clunk clunk of heavy working boots in the mudroom, take them off Sitting on the kitchen floor, The sun warming the smell of Late summer-ripened tomatoes So juicy red and ripe and plump Down to the cellar, please the dark damp cellar Needed is a jar of peas and green beans Watch out for the cobwebs underneath the stairs, dark and wet and waiting to be disturbed Grabbing that one jar out of a hundred My personal nightmare for years my endless fear of deep and dark and wet places Add it to the late summer feast of blazing red summer tomatoes The sun so warm it bakes your skin Sitting outside on that chalk white propane tank Straddling it in the middle of the summer field in the middle Of Kansas nowhere Great Aunts and Uncles telling you What needs to be done and how best to do it That fire engine red lipstick in the bureau drawer Just sitting there, hiding, waiting to be assaulted Red as red as the poppies on our dresses, we sit spread-eagle on the kitchen floor cutting those tomatoes And the men come home. Five Senses Aren’t Enough in Kansas Some of the best smells, you see Mint around the corner choking the wood logs with its envy, pine needles begging to be stepped on married in the gazebo but first move the pinecones, collect the acorns, We run across the way Beneath the raspberry bushes and cherry trees, Squish a raspberry between your fingers Let the red juice stain your face Tart and bitter, not quite ready Around the garden by the pottery building, under the spider webs, those big Kansas spiders Waiting to have fun with the children in the yard Follow the path, when you’re young it’s soaked With mystery and adventure Everything seems bigger than it actually is Where are you kids going!?? Come help in the pottery shop Slam the heavy door It’s dark and cool inside, Cool keeps the clay ready and smooth Old, graceful, and hardworking hands Grandpa holds the molds and Displays them with pride Big red rubber bands embrace the cool clay It touches my tongue and tastes good Holding, touching and tasting that clay, but These molds are for Grandma For the ceramic shop, be careful The new pottery, clean those lines, sand, dust, and sponge those lines like this, with the sharp edge clean it up nice Dry brush paint and make glorious Kiln. Hot. Don’t go near it, don’t touch! We are waiting, as kids how long do we wait? Days pass and then, finally A masterpiece. It is black and gold and faint shimmery matte and it is beautiful. Beautiful and subdued Displayed in glass. The door opens, the bell rings A new voice erupts Staticky Buddy Holly plays In the background Cold glass orange soda top pops off From the old coin soda machine by the radio We wash dirty brushes in the bathroom paint splats stain the sink Pinks grays blues and blacks in a clever pattern Those exact colors in that exact order They cleverly stain that sink like they own it Making you want more The smell of wet brushes and squeezing out sponges Muddy pastel water stains my clean cup Sight and sound and touch aren’t enough I taste the tips of the wet brushes Cool and murky, and my tongue remembers Powdery Love: Hard to describe The true love I’ve found In the powdery pockets and purses My powdery love hides Falling from the seams, you see Waiting for a tongue or finger to catch it It numbs and makes your senses sing A taste, a feeling A powdery love shared between lovers Escaped in the night, together they love The powder on hardwood It stings, it burns, it’s insane It loves real good The taste on my lips, taste my lips They numb real good You can hide here, please stay Stay numb on my lips Don’t go away I need you, we need you To love, to love real good To love the night away Without you it fails The powdery pockets and purses Where my powdery love sails Has waiting tongues and fingers to catch it A taste, a feeling, a love That burns That entwines That keeps us together, hanging on It numbs, It loves real good, It’s mine