I have never liked this corner of my parents’ living room,
maybe it’s because this sofa is not suitable for curling up and reading a book,
it’s too soft, stuffed with goose feathers
and it has not any arm to lean nicely against.
Since I was a teen ager, as soon as I decided to sit here,
I felt a bit uncomfortable because I smashed down the feather cushions
and my mother popped out immediately to shake then up
and to give them their original shape again.
I took this picture in a rather livid morning light
and I think my uneasy feelings are enhanced by that as well.
What I like here is the collection of small silver boxes,
so dear to my mother,
it’s really a part of her, protected from a glass, to keep the dust away....
Three is a sweet melancholy floating over here
and no glass layer can keep it away...