My mother taught me how to fold.
One night, she laid my shirt face-down
"It's like when praying," she told me.
"You need not raise your head so high."
And then she smoothed each fold and crease
"Though we may never see our backs,
It's best to keep them smooth and neat.
Who knows who might be watching you."
And saying this, she turned the sides
Towards the center. Then she flipped
The sleeves outside. "Like angel wings,"
I heard her say. "The wings we lose
When we are born, and all we have
Are arms and hands we must make strong
If we desire to reach up high."
The bottom she then flipped to hide
The sleeves and folded back.
"We all have secrets, you and I.
Best hide them inside. Prying eyes
Won't find the key for that." And thus,
She carried all my clothes, all flat
And smooth, she gently laid them on
The bottom shelf. My own, within
The closet doors. With gentle pat
Upon the pile, she sighed. "So small.
You were so small back then. But now
You've grown. Some day you'll take the shelf
On top, and all the rest you'll own.
For now, we rest just like those clothes."
We closed the doors, and soon our eyes
Like angels, we flew through dream skies
——
SenriKevMeister
YOU ARE READING
Bite-Sized Poetry
PoetrySome things are best read in short bursts, like little snacks in the middle of a busy day. While you're busy feeding your body, I want to help fuel your mind and imagination.
