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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #870926
Twenty-five years later, I look through my mother's purse from a new perspective.
Mother, here I am,
although I never thought I'd find myself
again a little girl
in this, your private world.

Remember how
I used to try You on?

With different purpose, now,
I touch the gentle canvas of your purse,
release the clasp,
and find the Jergens still on top.

Your lotion soothed me -- it was love
and all your riches, freely given,
formed a blanket on my skin.

A little deeper, creamy mauve
in slender casing always took my mind
to Cupid's arrows, falling,
working spells on men.
I'd always hoped to riddle them,
mysterious as you,
but I was lucky just to bleed
my shallow kisses on their sheets.

Now, in finding wads of Kleenex
stuffed in every crumpled corner,
I find meaning --
strictly practical, I think.
So much like me -- they dry the sorrow,
clear the sickness, smudge the lines,
my life a blur since Daddy woke me
with his call.

I can see a smile reflecting underneath your keys.
Your wallet offers cover, flashing photographs
that prove that I exist. I grip the vinyl, hand the nurse
the plastic card, and pray they fight to keep you well.

I catch a glimpse -- your mirror captures me
and lifts me from the depths -- I see the girl
you always knew, but through the eyes of one who's grown.
I find a part of you in me, and with it, also find myself.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/870926-I-Find-Myself