My Mother's Scarf

Rummaging through my closet,
the mess of denim lining my draws,
I find a woollen memory,
dust clinging to its lonely strands.

I sling it around my neck,
the delicate smell of my mother,
weakened with age and forgetfulness,
a glistening streak in atmosphere.

My mum stares at her forgotten object,
a quizzical spark in her eye,
I just smile and keep walking,
I shall now call it mine.

Leaving my mother at her home,
heading off to my father,
the ends tickling my chest
I nuzzle in its rough embrace.

I burrow into the blankets,
I feel the past entering my dreams,
not knowing any different
the scarf providing all the support I need.