She hung on the wall opposite the stairs –
hair as full and bulbous as the times.
Her chestnut eyes fixed upon the black leather
recliner, indented and empty. I was five
and she was beautiful. I would descend
the stairs in uneasy dreams as she turned
her gaze toward me and my worries –
will Dad come home, is Mom crying
herself to sleep again, am I going to awaken
wet and ashamed.
Punchnel's - June 12, 2012