It’s That Shade of Brown
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.
Written for dVerse Poets “Derivative”. A poem created by changing one or more words from a phrase. I chose “The rustling of leaves; I have stood many a time at the doorway of dreaming.” – Buck Moon ~ Part two: Seeing things. Shared with @dversePoets and @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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