Mother

I sought comfort in her old armchair- next to the window, Though threadbare it holds her memories woven into the fabric, I wonder often- did she sit here and grieve too? I sought recognition in her mirror- held up by rusted nails, have others looked into it and seen sorrow reflected there? Maybe they did not know its deception. I sought familiarity within her house of cracked walls, the walls that no longer hold any true color- just age, was she too comforted within these walls-or long for brighter shades? I sought sunny skies and wet sand- how mother loved them too, but now the window is always closed and my old coat hangs next to hers, our worn out shoes below them. Together, we have never left.