A pair of shorts,
two cord strings entangled
and the pattern
my mother's hands shook
gently
to draw;
cities,
a landscape,
a cross.
"I have no eye for art,"
she'd say,
but my mother's hands
made something for him, a husband,
The Husband,
and he wore them for a while.
Perhaps childish,
the colours slightly faded,
maybe her devotion
embarrassed,
I don't know,
but he pushed them to the back
of the cupboard in a corner of their
bedroom.
My mother is unhappy,
she doesn't know it,
or why,
but maybe it has something to do with
those shorts on the shelf
collecting dust.
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 5:23 AM UTC
A pair of shorts,
two cord strings entangled
and the pattern
my mother's hands shook
gently
to draw;
cities,
a landscape,
a cross.
"I have no eye for art,"
she'd say,
but my mother's hands
made something for him, a husband,
The Husband,
and he wore them for a while.
Perhaps childish,
the colours slightly faded,
maybe her devotion
embarrassed,
I don't know,
but he pushed them to the back
of the cupboard in a corner of their
bedroom.
My mother is unhappy,
she doesn't know it,
or why,
but maybe it has something to do with
those shorts on the shelf
collecting dust.
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