How difficult is it, to carry the burden of so many bodies?

February 15, 2016

I come from a long line of women:

Silvery, tall and silent.

And after generations of:

Carrying water jars on heads, carrying harvests in arms,

Carrying coffees in hands, carrying babies on hips,

We have come to this

Big Blue House.

So my mother and I sit,

Hand in hand, on this couch.

The blanket covering us is:

From Montenegro, made with a deep blue pattern

Not enough to keep the bone-chilling cold out

As she relates another instance of

Too Much Feeling.

My mother has the eyes heavy with the

Silver, the Stature, and the Silence

She keeps the sanity of:

My aunts, my uncles, my cousins, my grandfathers

My long-gone grandmothers, my father, my sister, my brother,

And makes time to hold my hand and quiet

My Cruel Demons

I wait and watch with a

Still Growing Body,

Readying myself to carry:

My water, my harvests, my coffees, my weeping babies

My family, and my ever-bent mother.

I stifle my demons and find the means to

Still Keep Going.

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