my mother; my baby
What a difference, makes a week.
From its beginning, these perspectives, at the end.
Waking to the first, never did I imagine that my mother would become my baby, and that my baby would become my mother.
[cell-convo outside the laundromat:
“...so, she’s started her new life, and just arrived in town…I know, right?…I just didn’t want to trouble her with this, and I knew you’d understand…”]
Hands, mano a mano, cracked, dry, still, dirty from this day’s adventure, they come to hold each other easily, feeling as they have so, so many times, yet so few, as they grasp the memories at-hand.
[woman walks-by, cradling her laundered hoard, a sideways glance telling me more than I should want to know, asking me questions I could never answer, and I happily look-away, into the only eyes I would ever see (your eyes!)]
Waiting in the moment, still…
[“Please Wait To Be Seated”]
…feeling these moments, all, tied to me.
[“Table, or Booth?”
“Can I sit at the bar for carry-out?”
Jewels, each, that reflect this light, refracted into a rainbow of events.
Surrounded by shadows, they are framed.
Opportunity; parking structures; the taste of rain; the feel of a woman’s weary hand.
[“Are we leaving?”]
Reservations; happiness; working; loving; care in my cleansing.
Four-leaf clovers; karaoke; PICC lines; vibrant sunrises; fire ants; crying.
[“Did you pay?”]
Pill-boxes left unfilled; smiles; blood; flowers.
Like a dry, spent earthworm sprawled in its exhaustion near the edge of the tarmac—mere inches from its reward—I feel this creature in my hand, with compassion, and take these things, prying-aside the dry detritus with the other that I may gently lay them into the welcoming moisture of the earth, freshly revealed.
[“Something to drink?”
“Do you have unsweetened iced-tea?”
As always, I cover these things, again, because all things soft need their hard coverings to preserve the essence, within.
[“Something to eat?”
“Italian Style Fettucini, please.”
“Chicken, sausage or mushroom?”
My mother; my baby, I held you both; as you wanted; as you needed; as you loved.
The soft kiss was as gladly given as it was so gladly received.
[“I’d like to add the House salad, if I could.”
“Balsamic, or Raspberry?”
My mother; my baby: whatever you are; whenever you are; wherever you are . . . I happily love all of your yous.
[“To go, you said?”
I gave all of my self to these tasks at-hand, as gladly as I did to all the other things—pressed; required; asked—all throughout this short, hard, sweet week.
My body, so, so depleted, I can only commit to its revival, as I wait, still.
[watching the Strong Man Competition on t.v.:
“How does it come that one, single, man can task himself to pull the weight of the things tied to him, behind, so far, in so short a time?”]
I would be with you both—my mother; my baby—in a heart beat, but I could only hope to ever find my self in all places, as it is our duty to each dwell in our own spaces as we care for this self—apart; a part.
It breaks my heart in so, so many ways to do these things; to know that loving another requires one to love the self, first.
[$14.50…I lay $4, and leave, partially satisfied, $ in one hand, change between, reward in the other]
My mother; my baby, I hold you close, and consume this realization as I do this fettucini—these juicy lettuces—and I am revitalized in the nutrition you so kindly afford.
You feed my Body as well as you do my Soul.
[happily turns the ignition to home]
~Melton’s App&Tap; Decatur, GA