Parachutes and Daisies - Brittany Rose
A black-haired girl and her blond brother
under the hand-built table.
Beneath S P A C E D L E T T E R S
a voided love note
a red Crayola heart.
Net curtains
white,
dance with flecks
of dust, and skin.
Billow, drift, waft
in the yellow air.
Wooden sills and
golden latches.
I walk down the hallway,
past the room
where my sister sleeps
with the bassinet and
rose pinstripe paper.
I walk past the Roman blind,
with the braided cord
handcrafted by my mother.
I walk to the big room where
my brother is busy.
He ties knots.
Sweaters
in knots.
Ribbons
in knots.
Trousers
in knots.
Knotted doorknobs,
locked in knots.
Yellow earmuffs & plastic parachutes.
The little girl and her blond brother,
leap
from the double doors,
to the prickle patch.
In hand-me-down shoes, my sister slips.
Her teeth
split
her bottom lip.
The chainsaw rips
the hedged edge,
and shreds
kowhai confetti.
The scarlet
sun
sets
into the lake.
Water-
colour spills, and
eats
Ruapehu’s pencil edge.
Now
the house is smeared
with primary yellow paint.
A fucking kayak on the wall
in the room where I
pirouette around my sister.
I click through the photos and see my brother
collide with timber, decked,
when he jumps from the double doors
with plastic bags
looped
around his shoulders.
Contributor's Note
As an avid childhood reader with a librarian for a grandmother, Brittany Rose takes delight in everything word-related. At 23, she is very much enjoying poetry despite hating it with melodramatic passion throughout high school.
This is her second appearance in Mayhem, and she will be published in Poetry NZ (no. 50), due out in October/November 2015.