The apartment in which we lived when I was small
in Los Angeles, California when I was not at all tall
our landlady, Mrs. Appleton, would oft come to call
she and mom were friends ... I could barely crawl.
The windows were opened on lovely sunshine days
soft breezes blew white curtains in billowing sways
with fragrances of honeysuckle and rose bouquets
wafting through rooms like perfume scented sprays.
We were not rolling in money and were quite poor
yet it was nothing that mom and I couldn't endure
she managed her meager finances well to ensure
we had all our needs met, her factory job secured.
The kitchen we had was substantial small, clean
a country sink, a stove and a roller wash machine
clothes were hung in our yard on ropes of green
we watched sunsets through the open door screen.
The apartment I remember is often on my mind
my mother's sacrifice seemed sublime at the time.
© Carmela M. Patterson, All rights reserved.