Perfume

“I Was Perfused With The Scent Of My Mother”

Words Of A Child Of An Addicted Mother

Often I Have Wondered In My life, If My Experiences Have Been
Unique, Or If You As A Reader Can Relate And Understand The
Agony And Pain We Share

One Of My Experiences Of Many, Written Below In Poetic Form

As she dressed for the party,
I watched intently, my eyes
followed her every move.
Sitting on the blue quilted chair
in my nightie, with my elbows
resting on the table, I was
mesmerized as she slowly drew her silk
stockings, then pulling a slip over
her head, she gracefully stepped into
a black dress, clinging to her thin
little body.
Her dark hair combed with care,
pulled back with a shiny barrette,
and with a finishing touch, a
necklace of pearls and matching
earrings, she stood before the mirror,
and as the light
from the window fell upon her, she
was beautiful, like a lustrous pearl
in emerald green grass, and I loved
her so much, even though she was
out of touch with her little girl.
Reaching for a small lavender bottle
of perfume, she applied sweet scents
behind each ear, and then smiling
at me, dabbing a drop on each of my
cheeks with a teasing grin. It melted
into my memory, my skin was
perfused with the scent of my
mother. Asking if I could put on
a dress and play outside on my
tricycle, she bent down low and
kissed me goodbye. I remember the
sense of abandonment I felt.
Would she come back?
Would I be left alone while she
partied all night?
Well, she might!

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