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.