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My Mother Likes Red

our small house

was a mansion

the town not

so much held

it in esteem

but I did.

Down the non-

traffic lit street

and just to

the left

my nan,

and my mom's

home resides.

Every over night,

each summer night

was spent

reviewing the

(what I believed

to be)

velvet, red

papered walls.

Every shape

and curve

made it seem

all the more

elegant,

the pillows -

incircled and squared

by red,

the corner chair - red

and the carpet

which could swallow

any substance that

fell,

or grazed

in its presence - red.

She bothers me

you know

that's just the

way it is.

We left and

there is no more

velvet, red

papered walls.

But the carpet

still swallows,

and the corner

chair sits.

now my

backpack is red,

my binder is red,

my notebook - red

and my pencil

tin, it's red too

I'll never be

like my mother -

but where would

be the elegance

in that.

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