A Suitcase Full of Memories

A suitcase of memories, gathering dust.

It’s tapestry a bunch of faded red roses,

the stitch plucked and ripped a cruel chant

of what has been lost, what has been gained.

The futility fills the air, speckles of dust

bounce off the case like dull Christmas glitter.

Martha fumbles at the lack lustre clasp.

Her fingers gnarled like a twist of twigs.

Navy blue veins vivid against thin paper skin,

stretched tight over fragile bones.

The lock gives and opens a suitcase full of memories.