I Waterlogged the Electric Kettle

Somewhere, you’re playing board games on the coffee table with the dual innocence where we once were as children,

but now we’re soiled skin.

There’s too much baggage in me and my brother’s bedrooms. So you start anew at six and seven years old. These are the benefits of skipping the younger years. While you’re at it, maybe fashion someone that will share in your condition.

Throw open the sash after Christmas and call down to the street, a spring cleaning of sons. I should have noticed sooner.

But you covered your bases, assured me of the unchanging nature of things. I remember you hugged me when I left for Ireland at the airport.

But it wasn’t changing, so much as shattering and rupturing at the veins. And you knew that well before then, since November or even before. You delayed me- got to me first. It wasn’t until months later that I noticed. I was in Ireland, standing at the sink, holding the electric kettle under the tap. I put things together, and forgot the water running cool over my hands.

The thought came then, and continued flowing into the sink.

REPLACED.

Replaced.

replaced.

One thought on “I Waterlogged the Electric Kettle

  1. Ryan your writing is amazing and your grandfather and great grandfather would be so proud of you. For me, my heart swells with pride like the sails of Halcyon on a broad reach.

    Like

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 )

Google+ photo

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

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Connecting to %s