memories of mom at nautilus teachings

mom and me
                               mom and me

My memory of touch
Goes back to you-
Your softness
Of hand to heart
I would melt within
Your arms…
First smile I remember
Is your ruby red lips
With that little lipstick smudge
Upon your top teeth-always present-
Second is laughing with you
Heads back in sheer joy
As we glided upon the front porch swing…
Your scent floated amongst
The books,
And house
That you made our home
It lingered after a hug
Upon my skin
And stayed in a room
After you had left
It was the song that sang me to sleep
The handkerchief which dried my tears
It was the arms that lifted me
So I could rest my head upon your heart
And hear the tiny beats of love
Today as I wander
I come across your scent
And look up searching
Pleading to see your face once more
Or I walk
And think I see your eyes
In people passing by
Are you here?
Do your eyes look upon me still today
For I hear your melody
I know your thoughts
And hear your voice
Accept now
I find it in the wind,
Or caressing a wave,
Even tucked inside
A beach treasure
I lift to my ear…
You lie scattered amongst
My life

scattered pieces of memory
      scattered pieces of memory

Even now
28 years later
And it is only in my aging
That I turn a corner
And instead
Of sweetness
Catch the stillness
Of you…
My life is beginning
To echo
I hear me-
Speaking you
I see me-
Being you…
As my children grow
And out
Begin their life
I understand
The emptiness
The need
For more color
More women
In my life today…
As I see my nephew
Become a father
And remember
Holding his tininess
Like it was yesterday
Or listen to my son
Speak of forgiveness
And growth
As I watch the little girl
I babysat for
Care for her handsome son
And listen to both of my daughters
Plan their future
From home
From closeness
In proximity to me
I become you
And hold you closer…
We all look to our
From our first breath
We know as children
We will never leave her
One day
That beautiful blondie
Who was attached at your hip
For so long
Never speaks to you
and turns from a hug

release the child welcome the adult
         release the child welcome the adult

I grab
Photo albums
And remember
our life
A good life so far
One day
They will all return
To the comfort
Of my home
My arms
Look into my eyes
And say,
“I love you mom…”
Each day
As I enter my world
Of color and light
I gaze upon my mother’s photo
And hold her
As I can
Never forget
The front porch swing
Or riding in her
I remember
Watching her bake each day
And tasting
Sweet love….
Yet most
I remember her heart
So close to mine
Like a sister
I never had
And a best friend
I truly miss.
I find myself in front of the large canvas. I have a sharp knife in my hand. I want to shred it. I want to tear off the pieces of stark reality, paint them in my colors and place the mixed matched broken pieces onto a new goose feather soft surface of healing bandages. I want the teared stains, the water mix of acrylic and salty tears to act as a healing balm. No matter how hard I try, how long I work, how many years I live, I weep. I place the knife upon the table and grab a 4” bristle brush. I want to throw the tarred remains of the basement, the pewter stench of must and mold and the brick red dried blood stains of memories onto this blank canvas. I step closer and rub my hands across the smooth surface, place my cheek upon the crystal cool shape, grab the frame with both hands and sob. “God, please make me a fish so I can swim far, far away.” I mumble into it. My tears drip onto the newness as I cry, heave and shake with fear and sadness. “I can’t paint you, I can’t let you go. I can’t place the dark colors necessary to release the demons of my past,” I whisper, “I am trying, I really am God. Help me get this out.”
I step back and begin throwing all my colors upon the canvas and the moon glow of my mothers big eyes on one wall. I grab the navy blue and licorice black color of all the corners of my life and think, “I put myself here, not let me get out…” The black does not spread like my azure, robins egg and indigo blues. It lies in thick jagged lines so I mix in the navy onto the canvas. I try again to spread the heaviness of midnight memories. I find myself jamming the brush and crushing the bristles. “Dang it! Spread, spread…”but the bleak blackness of the past refuses to budge. I walk away from this unfinished “CORNER” of my life.