Maiko Kikuchi, The Maid Was In The Garden, Hanging Out The Clothes, 2018 (Artist Website)
Paper and acrylic pant on colored paper
The canisters writhed with them—the fleas
trapped, the worms turned to flapping moths. We kept
the vacuum wrapped in plastic. In the back of the fridge
the forlorn raisins lived. Forgive my state of undress.
Ma flipping pancakes when she said this,
her frayed bunny slippers, whiskers fallen off, braless
under her tank top. It was nighttime and the stars
were smoked out. The treetops looked like ruffled carpets.
Those years we swept cobwebs from wicker, pruned lawns
in the dark, feeling with our feet for the edges.
It stank, the bitter beer we left
for the slugs—they gorged on milk instead—or
we dreamed impossible songs, whale babies to
mothers, who, when greeting one another, leapt.