The Kitchen Drawer, a short story

Dreaming of daisies and butterfly gardens, I find myself running thru mazes and tunnels, sure there are blue skies somewhere above ground…

How do I get there -Is it safe to come out now?

Deep in the cellar of abysmal memories, I remember a guy who pretended to love me.

Remember the father who left without leaving-a mother whose mothering I would attend to.

The weather has taken a turn for the grey. Icky, foggy, similar to brain matter…if I just lie down for a minute, I will just rest here…

…the dream begins…

Whats for Dinner, Mom? Aw, carrion again?

The girl stands in her yellow kitchen. Her husband will return soon. Boring old Jed. Why did she marry an accountant? She wonders at times if she ever mattered to the one she truly loved:

The windows need cleaning, the tea has grown cold-cold like the heart, cold like the hearth.

Cold, blue steel-a dead weight in the hand; Cold, dead stone in the heart of a man.

( Sing mockingbird, sing your bright song , sing of such joy can you bring me along?

Top of tall tree, float over hill, please let me join you, oh sing, if you will!

Remind me of meadows the smell of fresh hay : we’ll gallop, we’ll frolic , we will dance, we will play!

Gentle moonbeams gather far over our heads, a blanket of bluebells will cover our bed.

hands needing holding…

Hold me till morning with kisses on lips and hands needing holding in the tenderest grip.

My head lays upon your ever-strong chest, “You’ll never leave me-no not like the rest.”

“I will not let you”, I scream in my pain, ” you will regret ever straying again!”

“Let darkness fall- you will not run :You’ll know my rage from the end of this gun…”)


Yes, maybe I did matter, the girl muses…sighing, she wraps the revolver gently back up and tucks it deep under the kitchen towels, bumping the drawer shut with her hip.

solar bipolar art lamp, 2022. sold.

Author: ST Martin

I am an Artist, Poet and Author. A Survivor of Violent Sexual Abuse and Rape, I have lived thru Severe Domestic Violence, Twenty Three years of Addiction and Alcoholism, Family Dysfunction, Chronic Pain, Dependence on Opioids, and 2 Venomous Snake Bites...I have Been Stabbed, Shot at, Tied to a Tree and Choked Unconscious. A Quarter Horse Rolled on Me, as did a Lawn Tractor. I also Wrecked a Harley into a Tree! I also have PTSD and Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder, and spent my 18th birthday in a Locked Psychiatric Ward. I am so much more than this: I feel like a tiny seed that sprouted in a desert, and now has grown into a Passion Vine. My Art is my Voice, Screaming, Crying, Praying, Loving, Laughing, Healing- all in Riotous Color...

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