Coming Home

Inside my childhood room, my closet is still full of my old clothes and my mom’s new outfits.

My bureau’s drawers still hide socks and jeans, pajamas and tank-tops.

I will pull my the stool out from underneath the vanity.

I will sit and look into the mirror at my pink surroundings.

I will remember when and where I got every single trinket and picture now dressing my walls.

This entry was posted on Monday, August 2nd, 2010 at 6:00 am and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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