Keepsake

If Mother would

open her door,

that carefully crafted

curtain of stone,

pull back the too comfortable pleasantries

punctuated by screaming silences,

the disappointments, so carefully laid up

to keep for a new generation

If she could,

set aside the honor of shame

that shrouds her dressing table,

the Venus that stands, a naked epitaph

to her significance and holds

the useless, coveted accouterments

that make up

her sole contribution...

Meanwhile I

chisel the stone,

veiled expectations, regrets

seep through the door,

finding me wary of

images that dance, fill

the air around me, breathed

in like oxygen, her perfume

I am

peeking through keyholes,

arranging my hair just so

to match her countenance,

begging my mirror reflect

the glossed empty shell

she, with practiced poise

and grace filled elegance

passed down to me

And I see

my daughter's path

laid out,

in rows of white lily ahead of me,

asking me

to open for her

a door

Reviews

[Donald Meikle]

Remembering tugging now feeling the pull as life flows tidal

[Kristina Moulaison]

Lovely...thanks!

[Creepy Swine Guy]

I think I get this one, and I think that to some degree, this is a universal story. You tell a story with careful, but vivid images that give your perspective on the story a gentle, if certain tone.

[Kristina Moulaison]

I reposted this like minutes ago...:) Thanks!