Unraveling - Liz Longley

Boxes and baskets of all her old things\nPorcelain dolls, portrait paintings\nShe swore they’d be worth something\nThey’re just gathering dust in my attic somewhere\nAnd she’s lost in a room where she sits and she stares\nHer mind as blank as the walls\nHer memory as vacant as the halls\nI’m the only daughter of her oldest son\nI knew her well before her spirit was gone\nAnd her life is a thread woven into every part of me\nShe is unraveling, she is unraveling\nShe looks in my eyes and asks me my name\nEvery five minutes I tell her the same\nShe smiles but it’s cold and dead\nAnd I’m screaming out loud in my head\nI’m the only daughter of her oldest son\nI knew her well before her spirit was gone\nAnd her life is a thread woven into every part of me\nShe is unraveling, she is unraveling\nI tried to pull her back\nStories and photographs of her sisters and brothers\nHer children who love her\nShe can’t remember but how could a heart forget?\nI’m the only daughter of her oldest son\nI knew her well before her spirit was gone\nAnd her life is a thread woven into every part of me\nShe is unraveling, she is unraveling\nI’ve been tearing through boxes on nights I can’t sleep\nSearching for memories of who she used to be