Read Poem: Bamma sits in a velvet chair, by Rachel Harris

Bamma sits in a velvet chair.
in the darkest-lit room in the world.
Bamma cries and hangs her head.

Bamma sobs politely. Bamma sobs.
the box in the corner slowly speaks.
“I am the reason the wallpaper bled.”

Bamma becomes her own tragedy.
between the cold box. And the little stale chair
there is very little air:
the other figures have not fled.

I could be 40, 27, or two.
Bamma becomes her own tragedy.
The droopy face in the box
still fills my footprints with lead.

On a flight from INDIANA toto- Bamma can’t remember.
Bamma is much bigger than her tragedy.
the chair made her memory ohso busted

Bamma, me too!
I hate what I do.

I’m sorry.

My legacy is dead.

I’ll be sitting on
your sad velvet chair, Bamma.
voiding all
the figures in the room, Bamma.

Everything suddenly stopped.
“Why’d you do that, Momma?”