What Happens in the Corner Cupboard

Eclectic clutter,

Quirky knick knacks

Clamoring quietly in close quarters.

A corner in my cottage. HS

Heathcliff rants rhetorically against the sunny outlook of James Herriot.

Tiffany finds the adventures of the Pevensie children patently stupid but holds her tongue.

Thesaurus sleeps and drools synonyms into books below,

An alliterative leak

Pooling into the frustrated French dictionary who whines nasally at the flat faced fashion models

Who are professionally focused on selling overpriced merchandise to no one in particular, airbrushed cartoons of false femininity.

A translucent, teal glass candy dish conceals tiny tools for the intricate work of manicures with delicate reticence while

An Art Deco clock with stilled mechanisms commiserates with a 50’s fan.

Their conversation includes everything that technically makes them tick.

The cupboard husbands the petite side table, his protective arms spread wide, their novel children and novelty items clustered about them.

A fanciful family.

A carefree collection of unique accents and imagined truths.

Who knows what tender conclusions are come to between these closely clumped micro-cultures, so brilliantly unlike.

I strain to hear the whispers of their eccentric, inanimate souls.





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