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mother (1) (1 Viewer)

dannyboy

Friends of WF
mother’s young lips –
not yet saddened by years
that hang like overbearing peaches
on branches that have sagged
under the weight of support –
pursed, paused between words,
ready for the red lip-shtik;
I’m five, stand behind, watch
her watching herself
through the looking glass on a dressing table
years later I painted white.
Behind us
dad’s impatient voice
like time’s working of the dresser’s veneer
demanded in a tone
that neither of us ever denied
for too long; our ability
to time the length defined us.
 

Gumby

Staff member
Co-Owner
I’m five, stand behind, watch
her watching herself
through the looking glass on a dressing table
years later I painted white.

I like that the child has painted the dressing table and I'm imagining that the child has also painted the memory, white.
 
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