This Landscape is Changing

My mother is painting the kitchen black                                                                      

With black flowers and music swelling through the curtains                                                                    

I can't breathe in this house, overflowing in reds                                                                

Hanging seashells and snails from the windowsill                                                          

Thumbs replaced by dew-covered thimbles                                                                              

I've made a place to put my fears when I am feeling small                                        

By the moonlit fireplace, the ashes of my dead dog                                                                                              

I go there at night and remember the way it was, our song                                          

Dancing in the soft sands of childhood colours                                                              

Everything becomes a memory fading as we grow older                                                                

I don't know how to talk to her and I feel so alone                                              

Watching my sisters playing in ribbons of sweet laughter                                        

The canvas rests silently on the easel.