Mother

Hair, gracefully thinned on gaunt collarbones.

Skin, moth wings revealing traumatized blue veins.

Eyes, tired as the ox during harvest.

Mind, snared by the entanglements of Stress' grasp.

This woman is different.

Not as I remember.

 

Familiar in scent, perfume.

Familiar in speech, England has not lost Her roots in the voice.

Familiar in mannerism and touch, love.

Yet, this woman is different.

Not as I remember.

 

Childhood is comfortable.

Sun, warmth on the neck.

Earth, dirt on my hands and feet.

Ignorant of the world's cruelties.

No awareness of the moster already at work in my mother's chest.

 

Seven.

Seven years goes slow.

Watching your comfort slip into oblivion.

Fear brings questions.

Some unbearable, unthinkable.

 

How long?

Will she dance on my wedding night?

How long?

Will my kids know their Nana?

How long?

Pain?

How long?

 

Truth be told it never ends.

Fear brings questions, yes. But fear brings answers.

Fear drives the mind, but the heart wins.

The heart holds us together.

 

Yes there is a monster in my mother's breast,

however I'm done being afraid.

Not another seven years of wondering how long she'll be here.

I've put myself in the now.

Investing myself in every moment of laughter and happiness.

 

Fear is demanding, but Courage and Strength are our warriors.
We press on in our winning battle.