Caroline Ann: Cloth of a Mother

Photo: Joanna C. Valente

Wardrobe

Dead plants hang

where mouth rests

to hands, veined by

days, knuckles crack

often laughter a ring

carried in echoes on

Face, worn loose, hair low

knots, along spine, clip

back, place on

vanity, boots below, leathered

a few paychecks back

Decades now copper, tones

far off pink

skin, to live in,

icy turns mood

ring, indigo stained

Rust, and a jacket from

my father, to her, still drips

of sea, her arms longer than

mine, I roll up the sleeves

Sapphire, selenite, silken

slips, blue of

irides, dusted and cut,

cloth of a mother

I am, sewn of it

In hues, mornings lay

golden, flipped edges of

pancakes in skillet gone

awry, find and come to table

We, bluebirds, eat cakes

dipped maple

syrup beaks touch, touch

gently, themselves

oil and brushed.

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Caroline Ann writes and frequents far too many coffee shops in Boulder and Washington, D.C. She studied English and Psychology at the University of Colorado. Her work can be found in Tiny Flames Press, Pussy Magic Lit, Occulum Journal, and Messy Heads Mag. Find her on Twitter @_caresmith or Insta @carolineannsmith.