May the words in my head
and the meditations I create
in my over-active brain
and practice with good intentions
as I push my asthmatic breath in and out
and rest a hand on my now
and finally healthy heart
(as per my cardiologist and a number of therapists)
be deep enough and good enough
to clean the residual bitterness in my mouth
and soul
and melt away the occasional and wild flooding
that pours from my eyes when least expected,
and may they be enough to melt the inner yahrzeit candle
I’ve carried in my heart for 59 years
for my mother, and
may I finally let her rest in peace.
May I finally find my way to peace
and let the soft light of love finally bring healing
to the scars in my heart and brain
and to the hideously arthritic toes and fingers
that have held on so tightly to wishes and dreams
so I might stand with ease as I pray,
and may I dwell in the memories of
the kindness in her dreamer eyes
and childlike innocent smile
captured in all the black and white pics
I have kept stashed in my jewelry box
and the teeny happy place
behind my blue eyes
that remind me she was here at all.
This year,
as I approach the marker which brings me
to nearly twice her age at her death,
I reward myself with a moment
of what might have been
if each of us had had the time
to live out more of our dreams,
and then sit in some café
near good foot traffic
so we could be judgmental together,
as we shared some tea and time
and raised our cups to clink ever-so-carefully
as we smiled at the inside joke
about never quite fitting in
to the lives set for both of us
while keeping wild girl dreams alive –
women totally out of step with time and
station.
_____________________________________________________________________
[Image: The author’s mother]
