I take out the old-fashioned dress in my mother’s closet.
It’s a rose-colored fabric that you liked from your 50’s pageant.
And its floral scent underneath reminded me about you for a reason.
I got mad each time I learned you skipped a Christmas season.
The only thing I have is your pretty face in my silver locket.
Your memory is hanging from my neck; I wish not to drop it.
I could still see us picnicking in the small backyard,
There I stand next to you and pretend to be a bodyguard.
Gray was the shade of your hair; I revered it in my sleep.
You look like your favorite actress, you called her Meryl Streep.
I could have touched the way you pinched my hand in the hospital room.
But I can still see you sitting on an empty chair – I assume.
Copyright © Lei Strauss | Year Posted 2021
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