There.

[justcloudy]

As a kid, my top bunk held my nose so close to the ceiling
I’d hear every shift and groan of that lady up there.
Mama explained the pained, human sounds
were just my night terrors, so I agreed.
But we both knew they weren’t.

Mama kept our place dark in the summers.
It didn’t keep us cooler, just reminded her of home.
The rickety kitchen cabinets were all built too high,
so mama kept a plastic folding footstool
between the refrigerator and the oven.
I used to wonder if it’d ever melt.

During my fifth grade year
I was held back for after school meetings with
the counselor we shared with Holt Elementary.
She asked me questions, and never really believed
about our water heater and the shower faucet
that called the shots. That’s all it was.
I liked the attention though.

Sometimes the water would turn off for a few days
on the third, fourth and fifth floors.
Oskar said no one could figure out why.
But I heard my aunt screaming with mama
at Mr. Mustapha’s door one August
when the stink and heat got too much.
The next day I relished my scalding ice shower.

It wasn’t long after that her knees went out
and five flights of stairs became too much.
Canned chicken noodle and grilled cheese
were ok for a while… but then mama made a deal
with Mrs. Boukari, and I learned grocery shopping.

The water is steady now and the shower less demonic.
Twice a month I fight the battle of keys and locks,
refill the fridge with apples, milk and eggs
and sit on our sunken and bony, peach cream sofa.
We snack on peanut M&Ms from those dollar store bowls
she convinced me were crystal from home,
as she shows me how to fold the mlawi right
and just how long to wait before flipping them.
Then it’s dinner time, grocery store rotisserie with canned beans
and she catches me up on the block’s news
in front of muted re-runs of Dr. Phil.

[rowens]

The period after Holt was making me wonder. But I think this poem is fine. I am having big problems reading now. Anything. But I can't see anything wrong as a poem. It tells the story fine. Though ever since people started using the word 'fridge', I've had to think twice whenever I spelled the word 'refrigerator'.

[justcloudy]

hey rowens
oops it's because I forgot a word. fixed now.
and YES about fridge vs refrigerator.
glad you think it's fine, that's something anyway. =p
thx for commenting.
-cloudy

[Heartafire]

Hi cloudy, this resonates with melancholy for me. Traveling back to childhood and perhaps difficult memories, leaving us with present day rituals. I could not find any technical problems with this. I enjoyed the conversational tone. Thanks for a glimpse into this very vivid world.
Heart

[Todd]

Hi JustCloudy, long narrative poem and short story vignette seem to blur a bit for me. I'll try not to get too wrapped up about it. Here are some comments:

Do you need the period in the title? I'm also not sure "There" does much for you.

As a kid, my top bunk held my nose so close to the ceiling
I’d hear every shift and groan of that lady up there.--I like the first line quite a bit. I'm not fond of the repetition of my. Maybe the before top. I like the claustrophobic feel, and the immediate sense of setting.
Mama explained the pained, human sounds--maybe something less general. More specific pained human sounds to make them pop some
were just my night terrors, so I agreed.
But we both knew they weren’t.--good last two lines

Mama kept our place dark in the summers.--I'd almost like to see some condensing "...place dark but not cool in the summers." It reminded her..." Just a thought
It didn’t keep us cooler, just reminded her of home.--that's an interesting idea of dark reminding her of home. You may be able to explore this more in a line or two
The rickety kitchen cabinets were all built too high,
so mama kept a plastic folding footstool
between the refrigerator and the oven.
I used to wonder if it’d ever melt.--I liked the flow of detail here

During my fifth grade year--I would think most people would simply phrase this "During fifth grade"
I was held back for after school meetings with--don't like the break on with. It would probably be stronger after meetings
the counselor we shared with Holt Elementary.--this line gives a sense of an impoverished area. It's a great detail
She asked me questions, and never really believed
about our water heater and the shower faucet
that called the shots. That’s all it was.
I liked the attention though.

Sometimes the water would turn off for a few days
on the third, fourth and fifth floors.
Oskar said no one could figure out why.
But I heard my aunt screaming with mama
at Mr. Mustapha’s door one August--this gives the sense that it was deliberate cost savings or an attempt to run tenants out. It gives a good sense of why things happened.
when the stink and heat got too much.
The next day I relished my scalding ice shower.

It wasn’t long after that her knees went out--I take her to be Mama but the pronoun is a little far from what it points too. It might be helpful to use Mama here
and five flights of stairs became too much.
Canned chicken noodle and grilled cheese
were ok for a while… but then mama made a deal
with Mrs. Boukari, and I learned grocery shopping.

The water is steady now and the shower less demonic.--I like demonic
Twice a month I fight the battle of keys and locks,--again shows how dangerous the neighborhood is. It's those little details that I really like
refill the fridge with apples, milk and eggs
and sit on our sunken and bony, peach cream sofa.
We snack on peanut M&Ms from those dollar store bowls
she convinced me were crystal from home,
as she shows me how to fold the mlawi right--again all great detail
and just how long to wait before flipping them.
Then it’s dinner time, grocery store rotisserie with canned beans
and she catches me up on the block’s news
in front of muted re-runs of Dr. Phil.

It was a nice read. I hope the comments help some.

Best,

Todd

[tectak]

As a kid, my top bunk held my nose so close to the ceiling
I’d hear every shift and groan of that lady up there.
Mama explained the pained, human sounds
were just my night terrors, so I agreed.
But we both knew they weren’t.

Mama kept our place dark in the summers.
It didn’t keep us cooler, just reminded her of home.
The rickety kitchen cabinets were all built too high,
so mama kept a plastic folding footstool
between the refrigerator and the oven.
I used to wonder if it’d ever melt.

During my fifth grade year
I was held back for after school meetings with
the counselor we shared with Holt Elementary.
She asked me questions, and never really believed
about our water heater and the shower faucet
that called the shots. That’s all it was.
I liked the attention though.

Sometimes the water would turn off for a few days
on the third, fourth and fifth floors.
Oskar said no one could figure out why.
But I heard my aunt screaming with mama
at Mr. Mustapha’s door one August
when the stink and heat got too much.
The next day I relished my scalding ice shower.

It wasn’t long after that her knees went out
and five flights of stairs became too much.
Canned chicken noodle and grilled cheese
were ok for a while… but then mama made a deal
with Mrs. Boukari, and I learned grocery shopping.

The water is steady now and the shower less demonic.
Twice a month I fight the battle of keys and locks,
refill the fridge with apples, milk and eggs
and sit on our sunken and bony, peach cream sofa.
We snack on peanut M&Ms from those dollar store bowls
she convinced me were crystal from home,
as she shows me how to fold the mlawi right
and just how long to wait before flipping them.
Then it’s dinner time, grocery store rotisserie with canned beans
and she catches me up on the block’s news
in front of muted re-runs of Dr. Phil.

Hi justcloudy,
Don't hate me for this but you are capable of so much more.
It is a nice story but I cannot honestly find anything whatsoever poetic about it. I would like to comment on at least one poetic attribute or nuance but I would be pissing in the wind. As I said, nice story, empathetic appeal to some, or worse, everyone. I am bored with my own comments on this type of stuff, so christ knows how it must be for everyone else. No further crit from me.
Best,
tectak

[justcloudy]

heart-- thank you.

todd-- thanks so much for the crits. lots of good points which I'll definitely work into the revision. do you feel like it's too long? I sort of do but am not sure what to cut... and feel free to expand on the vignette point, I wouldn't be opposed to maybe turning this into something different...

hi tec-- you say what's on your mind, can't hate you for that. =] and you have a point.

true-- yea it does. boo if that didn't make sense. in S3 the narrator talks about "our water heater and the shower faucet / that called the shots" and that's why she's in trouble at school: burns. "scalding ice shower" = it changes quickly. if others didn't get that either I should change it, sorry if it's not clear enough.