Analysis of Mama's Sonnet

Mama, please let me help you wash the sheet,
for your passion is faded pink, not red.
As sweat drops into aluminum wash pan between tired feet,
your burdened mind weighs heavy as the bedspread.
Discolored from dirty soles and playful bliss,
it lies beneath white bubbled clouds of soap,
marked by children aware of something amiss,
while above the chaos, your mind stays afloat.
Fantasy wishes to replace present with the past,
intermingled with grumbles of discontent for your life;
Distant memories of youth and frivolities that last,
you wanted more than to be a housewife.
You try to console yourself--never mind--hush;
back and forth you scrub with the bristled brush.