Little Natures
Apples,
they grab them from the kitchen before I have the chance to wash the wax from
their skins. Tomass cries without tears. He buries his head in my stomach, moaning,
rolling against the warmth of my soft body.
Then, he runs away laughing.
Something or someone has damaged this baby, scratched and battered in
places unformed. Toms nurtures him,
proudly carries a plate of white rolls to the table, chooses giant tiger
slippers at the zoo and wears them as he walks three blocks to get gelato with
the other children. He is a fair-haired
fortune, so skinny his heartbeat shows.
Mairite is the oldest. Still
mysterious, tall and straight boned. Like
my own daughter, she flocks to girlfriends, titters, pretty pink-hues and
music. At the zoo, she drapes her arms
around my shoulders but won’t share her covers with the baby. We are three days in and they all call me
“Mom.” Save me, save us all.
In loving, we give pieces of ourselves away that can never be recovered, plucked and held out in hesitant offerings. Hobble ourselves in some human effort to wade through little natures. Maybe now, I should learn to pray.
In loving, we give pieces of ourselves away that can never be recovered, plucked and held out in hesitant offerings. Hobble ourselves in some human effort to wade through little natures. Maybe now, I should learn to pray.
This is touching. No matter what we give away we must ensure it's worth losing and be ready to gain from the loss.
ReplyDeleteI don't believe those pieces of ourselves are truly lost. Their roots are still inside us to grow again next time we need them. Stay strong.
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