Finally Home ; Napowrimo[ one]

She looks at her so lingeringly,
fingering the frayed edge of her bedcover,
that she had embroidered long years back;
she looks on, perplexed, vexed perhaps
at something , that she herself does not know ,
 fingers now tattooing something on the bedcover.   

Eyes transfixed as though on some sort of a cotillion,
 where the debutantes were presented with a flourish
on that stage of long ago.

“You are pretty late today, mother”, she says, pouting.
 “Pray, what took you so long?”
The silver haired octogenarian askes the thirty year old girl,
smiling at her;
“Ah, it was a dark, winter storm,
but the storm has fallen silent, hasn’t it” She mumbles.

“Dark winter storms have strange caramels.”

The young daughter says, with a reassuring smile,
and then stretches a quivering hand
 to remove a tendril from her mother’s wrinkled face,
who smiles a contented smile. Finally home.