My Mother

I’d come home to an empty house

Ravenously walking over to the small turquoise fridge

With more magnets fallen on the floor

Than on the door.

The one that remained held a photo

Of my mother who had left one day and never returned.

With disregard, I’d open the fridge

And disgusted by those repugnant fumes

Of mold and rats

I’d shut it again.

Sighing, I’d leave the kitchen to go get ready

For a night out to take my mind off of

The sad reality that had become my life.

Putting on my mother’s red dress

With long tulle sleeves,

A lacy corset, and a velvet skirt

Looking myself up and down

In the cracked mirror of the stuffy bathroom

With stained blue tile,

I’d pull the satin ribbon on the back of the dress

Until my torso was as constricted as it could be.

Tying was always a pain:

Contorting my arms in ways impossible before

I’d lose my patience as the ribbon slipped out of my hands

Again and again

Until finally, a knot was formed

And I let out a breath in relief.

As a final touch,

I swung open the medicine cabinet

And there sat my prized possession.

With one spray, the scent of rotting fish was replaced

With the scent of jasmine and peonies

And the rumbling in my stomach was gone,

Now replaced with butterflies and excitement

Instead of the tired eyes

and the dry skin

A rejuvenated beauty stands at the mirror

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