The Forest Paintings

The forest paintings, hanging by the staircase
Watching the world go by their business
Watching the family of six, my mother’s
Watching the husband weep as his wife dies
Watching the youngest child’s children, jumping down the staircase
Watching the sole inhabitant die
Getting covered in dust
A horde of people come through the doors, tears streaming down their faces
Flowers everywhere, blocking our view
The children stay, one last time
Then they leave
One painting gets chosen, the Lost Child
It gets stuffed in a shed, forgotten
Then, after all the sorrow, it comes to its final resting place
My bedroom wall.