Memory Drift

The carpet is rough

Against my cheek

The vent humming heat

At the tip of my nose

I hear my mother

In the kitchen 

As I stare 

From winter windows

And the first flake travels

The size of my childish hand

Sinking to the blankets

Hiding the backyard

And then the next

So large

I swear I see

No two alike

As my eyes grow heavy

Lying in the warmth

Staring into frigid air

As I slide down

Into sleep – Caroline A. Slee 

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