It's Still Life

It’s That Shade of Brown

Again.
It’s a rustling of memory.

You bring me to this doorway,
day after day,

into our minutes. My dad,
into dreams and dusk,

and precise piles of crispy leaves.
Our cat, a goat, and fertile land.

A forest’s umbrage. Morning frost.
Chocolate melting on my fingers.

It’s a colour that can
         speak to a heart.
          Or break it.

I’m always drawn into the depths
of brown. That dress. I was 3.

My 3rd birthday photo.
Why don’t I smile like that anymore.

What was it that brought such
radiant joy into a child’s face.

I remember every minute of you.
Do you still smile when I smile, like

when I pushed your wheelchair
too slow, and yes, I can hear you say

            it’s slowly, girl, not slow.