Verbal Visions

Memories of Cloth

Memories of Cloth

In the cloying air of a dusty attic,
we wait to be discovered. 
We are all that remains of her
and long to remind the world
of her existence.
A young life gone
too soon.

In the dark corners,
we only have each other
for company
We whisper of her
to each other to keep
her memory alive. 
We are her tangible ambassadors
And we have a story to tell.

But, we are beginning to disintegrate.
Our button eyes are failing
and our seams are unraveling.
The suitcase we sit in,
our home for ages,
is becoming our grave.
Soon we will be lost to time
and her only mark on the world
will be dates
in the family bible.

And so, we wait
and whisper her name
hoping someone will hear
and come find us...

Clara