A Year in Residue
Grit in the corners of my eyes, glitter in the crease of an elbow
ache in the fold of a hip, scab on your knee,
flakes of dough on the counter top. Headaches that don’t seem to stop.
Grit, glitter, ache, scab, flake.
Sweat at the backs of my knee, glue peeling off your fingers,
dust along the lines of the room, slime peeling down off the ceiling,
ink on my fingers from notes, mould on your plastic bath boats.
Sweat, glue, dust, slime, ink mould.
Dirt under my nails from the hard soil, milk round your mouth as you smile,
Blue food dye on my wrists, salt on your face when you cry
petals drying out on a shelf, perfume on you and myself,
Dirt, milk, blue, salt, petals, perfume,
Grit, glitter, ache, scab, flake, sweat, glue, dust, slime, ink, mould, dirt, milk, blue, salt, petals,
perfume.
Me, you.
Vanessa Napolitano (she/her)
A Year of Residue, finished 31 March 2021
I have been thinking a lot about the physical impact of the year of lockdown, and working from home with a small child who was often off of preschool and then reception year of school. Being a mother involves a lot of mess and chaos anyway, I think, some of which is fun. There's just had to be more unsupervised activity in the background, more attempts at baking/crafting/entertaining, and all of it simultaneous with stress and worry and trying to be two or more things in one space (an employee and a parent and a teacher) because we don't have the luxury of separating our roles out as we sometimes do/did.
@nessanapswrites