Red Curtains

You called me Mable.

As the red curtains swayed

you’d tell me stories of the old neighbors.

They used to play the accordion late at night.

You laughed. You said it would drive mom crazy. 

A cloud of cinnamon stained the air as you flipped the toast.  

I missed her. I stared at the photo on the fridge.

I saw the life in her eyes. 

Boundless beauty, frightening fearlessness. 

She left me with none.