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 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.