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HLK
Poems
Sep 2018
A Gift from my Mother
Antiqued and covered with specks of dust
It sits across the room
Calling childhood memories
Of my mothers plush bedroom.
Its emerald green
Just as my birthstone
A pewter garden surrounds
It's round shape.
I encompass it in my hand
Tracing my fingers over its line work
Stopping on its dull vines and butterflies
I slowly unscrew the cap
that could use a little spit shine
Gently, I bring it to my nose
Bracing myself for the deep inhale.
I pull in that buried smell
From the glass bottle
Letting it tickle my nostrils
While broadening my shoulders.
I am taken back to a different time.
A time of moths in closets
Brooches on wool jackets
And curlers in hair.
Written by
HLK
24/F/Minnesota
(24/F/Minnesota)
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