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