a room of memories

A room of memories
I walked up the steps, hesitated before opening the door
with an old-fashioned handle that looked golden in the afternoon light
The kitchen was old fashioned on the wall hung the sink bowl used every Saturday, the wash days.
Once upon a time, two families shared this kitchen
The living room's furniture was the same, minus books
and curtains, someone must have found these things
valuable, perhaps a book reader, but I suspect most of them ended up in the heap where lost dreams go.
She slept in a tiny bedroom when I visited, slept on a sofa, was Scandinavian upright and not given to comfort, yet she and three children lived here How?  is an enduring mystery.
Faded wallpaper, I think it once had little flowers on
yellow square marks where the photos had hung and
dust on window sills
I stood in the middle of the room and listened intently
trying to conjure up her presence but hearing nothing
other than the om of forever.
I closed my eyes saw the galaxy, stars, and strange traffic cones, but her face remained in the darkness.
It is terrifying to think she has gone forever
never will there be a woman like my mother.