Slipped

 

She slipped in the bathtub.

She slipped

She slipped

I remember the spaghetti she used to make

The nightly tea I thought was gross

I now can’t live without.

She slipped

She slipped

Suddenly she was angry,

Putting out the Christmas tree in July

But not remembering it in August.

She slipped

She slipped

She begged my mother to promise

I would keep playing the piano.

I haven’t pressed a key

In years

In years

I haven’t pressed a key in years.

Cory Stevens is a senior-year English major at Shippensburg University. He was previously published in a 2006 national poetry anthology titled Timeless Voices. This past year, he wrote and directed a one-act comedy, Family Dinner, and served as Editor-in-Chief of the on-campus literary journal.  Several of his short stories have been published within its pages. While not at school, he can be found at home in Northampton, Pennsylvania.

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