In Mother’s Attic

I close my eyes only for a moment, and the moment’s gone
All my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity ~

of fake flowers,
fairy christmas lights,
disassembled beds, lamps,
& commode chairs,
i need to pee.
a tiny mirror
falls out from the elastic band
of my underwear
&i see you,
teenaged daughter.
but you spook &evaporate
quicker than i can hang on to.

i hold: this tiny mirror.
still, this orphaned poem.

“Dust in the Wind” lyrical
inspiration at Real Toads

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19 thoughts on “In Mother’s Attic

  1. “. . . as ’twere, to hold the mirror . . .” (Hamlet advising actors)

    Dreams, recall, undirected remembrance, not-yet-shapened visions. And more precise images. And you wake up, I guess. And if you are alone, why wouldn’t you feel orphaned? And your writing, too.

  2. I told you to go before we went up there!

    I remember that time well, when i realized my teenager had a life all his own that didn’t include me, and that everything was moving him away, not closer, and that was natural. Fine, but it made me blue as hell for a while.

    –coal (Fireblossom)

  3. It is funny how the discarded items of childhood, once over, seem so hollow and useless. Yet we cannot quite bear to let them go. I know the feeling you have described here only too well.

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