Chaelio Thomas

Raspberry pancakes, Love through touch, sound and smell & To Mutant

Chaelio Thomas

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Raspberry pancakes

The shell hung together cracked, but wouldn’t separate,

like telephone box doors, shattered

but still clinging together

in some strange façade,

a sparkling spiderweb of cellophane.

I had to bash it off the side three times,

until the yolk and white dropped into the bowl,

catching fragments in my fingers.

The first one broke the first time.

Next the milk came creating a strange cloud that wouldn’t mix,

cloudbubbling with the tawny infusion of Madagascan vanilla.

“It’s bitter” the radio said, “Vanilla.”

I dripped maple syrup down my top and forgot

So now it’s on my hands and in my hair.

Don’t see how sticky things are sexy:

Eating whipped cream off stomachs á la Eurotrash.

I guess it’s an excuse to shower.

Who doesn’t love a shower?

To be caressed by a thousand warm raindrops at once.

I like raspberries for their texture,

The little pips and pink blood running through a the web of a pancake,

like some grotesque beast stuck just under the ice.

But if I had to choose, it would be apples every time.

I gag on the skin of oranges and the smell

And mushy green sliminess of bananas.

I like a bit of bite.

Love through touch, sound and smell

He didn’t like showers,

He said they made his hair fall out.

Maybe it was a legacy of the cancer?

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s forty?

He’d climb in bed beside me and spoon

and I’d try to smile while being

enveloped in the smell of spicy

fried onions and glued together

with sweat that turned his red shirt white.

His skin was baby soft and he purred like a kitten,

when I ran my fingers down his side.

I look at the flowers struggling to breathe in the vase.

I cut them too short so I had to wedge them in,

So they’re kept from drowning solely by the

bobbing heads of their friends;

Ker-plunk with red samurai roses,

They look charred and frayed but I appreciated the gesture.

Only hours earlier, I was gasping for air,

when I couldn’t predict the future

or read your mind.

I hadn’t cried so much since breaking up with Him

Climbing up those lopsided stairs

Cracks in the plastered walls

As if an earthquake had happened on that particular spot.

I waited until the morning. Selfishly?

The floor in the room was uneven,

walls paper thin, I could hear the sobs

And put my head under the pillow like a child.

“Well that’s life and happiness done for me then” He said.

I hated Him and hated myself for my lack of sympathy.

“Rebound” a friend said, but I am no boomerang. 

To Mutant

I tried to brush out the matts,

the curly white clumps,

In your Tudor ruff.

You didn’t like that.

I ended up shearing half your whiskers off.

You didn’t like that either.

Now your face is lopsided and you won’t stay on the bed,

when I pick up the comb.

Fair enough really.

You probably bang into things in the dark now.

Must be embarrassing.

I am sorry.

Chaelio Thomas

Chaelio Thomas is a writer from Dublin, Ireland with a strong family background in County Wexford. She is a graduate of UCD, gaining a BA in English and Geography, an MA in Drama and Performance Studies and an MA in Creative Writing. She was shortlisted for RTE's 2010 PJ O'Connor radio drama competition, a participant in the Fishamble 2012 Playwriting Mentoring Programme and has had creative writing pieces published on, Tales From the Forest and in the Olentangy Review and Stony Thursday Book. She mainly writes poetry at the moment. She tweets @Jenanifur