Love In Color

I recognize:

strands of hair,
a baby grand that sits on the south side,
marble walls with diamond tiles,
a woman in the portrait that hangs next to the clock,
husband's jacket slumped over the dining room chair,
the eyes of her, that peer at me, allways, even if only in my head,
a semi crumpled lunch bag, on the counter, in the kitchen,
the skirts and blouses, the earrings and eyebrow toners,
sun spots on her hands, more wrinkled now than before,
dead leaves, layering the sidewalk on Lee Avenue,
leather seats in an Acura on highways too long from home,
picture frames
framed pictures
thick, desiring soil, in the back yard where she plays,
the afghan throw, on the couch, pleated gold,
my prayer beads, both aesthetic and pragmatic,
layers behind and beneath the blonde,
the time keeper that tocks and ticks, on the west side and in my secret spots,
book shelves covering the white-washed walls, in berkeley, in Cofoid,
sweaters, holding me when she is not (t)here

all these things

my mother's brown