fragments of a dresser

fragments+of+a+dresser

looking down between the simple cracks of my mother’s old dresser,

now relying upon my possession,

heard is the rustic hush brought on from a different time.

 

spotted here and there are your average oddities from old ink splatters and paint

from now or before

i don’t quite remember

 

behind the knobs can be found the inner workings of a screw

tracing a sharp, panging metal smell upon your fingers

as young hands twist and tighten them back into place.

 

with the change of seasons comes a change in scenery:

miniature stockings drape gracefully in ernest to show their colorful patterns,

and the old lumber adopts a new pine-sort of aroma into its old grains. 

 

indecisive about its future,

it still stands sturdy—

confident. 

 

if you lean in close, the muffled enigma of girly secrets and giggles radiates through the exterior.

and, if you listen hard enough, memories from many lifetimes personify the structure.

it can be noted to maintain a personality of its own.

 

the mirror has held many faces,

but it still stays true to its own.

in uncertain disarray, it has watched back at many a time an indecision at an outfit or hairstyle.

 

wherein everlasting resting-motion the dresser will venture is unknown, 

but because of its past, it is certain of its identity.