Armchair



Days after my father died,
I watched my mom sink
into an armchair as if
it was an embrace from him.

She sat listless;
her face made up with
fatigue, sorrow and the
hint of a smile.

Her eyes, which were
once bright and vibrant,
held a dim and distant shine. 

When she finally got
up to go rest in the bed,
I sat in that chair and
felt a surge of memories
engulf me.

Hugs, kisses, jokes,
arguments, discipline
and family functions
came rushing in like
a December wind;

whenever I saw her sit
in that chair from that
day forward, I would go
get her slippers and ask
if she needed a blanket. 



© 2015 abruvanamedsly




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