In another life, my mother’s body wouldn’t have betrayed her All the pain from her every days, would only be some days, or perhaps no days She wouldn’t find herself listening the screams of her swollen feet And I would not find her hurriedly hushing it away She would not buckle under burden She would find no need to lean on copper tinged canes That break the surface of the brown earth Bring her a little closer to the ground Reminding me that one day she will rest there Salt of the earth, my mother born again.
In another life my mother will stand in the front yard filling bird feeders Waiting each spring for her finches to return, she prefers the golden ones I will make jokes about how diamonds are supposed to be a girl’s best friend And she won’t mind, She will simply laugh and clench the sides of my head Brush the scum from my eyes, so that I might see clearly I won’t resent her, I won’t begrudge her anything I will break off my sharp tongue before its blade does harm, Tell my mother I trust her, because she has raised me well.
In the spring people love the trees for their bountiful blooms bursting forth brazenly with new life. In the summer those same people love the trees for the familiar leaves brilliantly green against the blue sky. In the fall the foliage puts on a final show. Rainbow colored leaves dance on the breeze, yellow, red, orange, brown, and even pink but no one loves the trees in the winter. No one admires the way they stand naked against the cold, while we wrap ourselves up and put layers between us and the world. They will hold up their best with branches weighed down by ice and snow, and though some limbs may break the trees will remain strong waiting to be loved again in the spring.
Sometimes I wonder are there other people that have to tell their bodies to do the things that most bodies do automatically. Sometimes I have to tell my lungs to breathe or I have to tell my heart to beat or I won’t be able to go on living anymore. Sometimes I have to ask my mouth nicely to make sounds and hope they resemble words or there might not possibly be a way to get my point across. Sometimes I have to tell me legs to keep walking, and my feet to hold me up because I don’t want to keep lying and sinking into greater holes still. Sometimes I wonder why my body won’t move on its own, and why it won’t dance.