The mother�s eyes
are bright, the color of
cornflowers and softened silk.
She is beautiful,
stately,
dignified with age.
She wears black
because she has mastered it
and covers her body
because the time of
bared shoulders and
newborn eyes
has passed.
The mother clasps her hands
around her daughter�s waist.
The daughter,
fair haired and
draped in white,
leans her naked back
against the black of her mother,
eyes half-closed and away.
The mother is ready to
release her daughter
like a swan.
She remembers
being set free
like this
and presses
cool lips
against her daughter�s skin
and lets her go.
Life
I�m sitting on a stool,
listening,
to my father washing dishes
and talking to my mother
with her newspaper.
Some girl
needs a heart transplant.
My mother and father
can�t see each other,
wrapped in other things
yet sharing a conversation.
And I wonder
if this is
married life
after so many years.
Minds together
even when apart.
Nobody says the words
I love you
but they can be heard.
The conversation
drifts to other things
like ballet programs
and cabinet doors.
I think
someday
when I am older
and their home
is not quite my own
I will come back
and watch them
through a window
in soft light.
Neither will say anything
that has to be said
but still
amid the clattering dishes
and rustling paper
it will be heard.
It�s going to be highschool soon
and I can already see it,
long hallways
long hours
gruesome humiliation
under cafeteria lights.
They�ve always said
Just say no
hypnotizing parties
with airing kegs
and smeared mascara,
greasy guys in parking lots
offering you joints,
and you always hear about
Bad memories
tragical haircuts
and thwarted adolescence.
You hate yourself in highschool.
but it�s just a movie isn�t it?
just a movie
going by fast from
frame to frame
and you get over it, don�t you
Highschool�
the unraveling
in pursuit of
greater things and beings,
the sins of growing up
which I can probably count.
Soon this year
will be caught in a picture
in a yearbook,
gathering dust in some room
in some time
and I might look at it again
and then
I will close it
like a chapter
in a novel
and that
will be
that.
(old, but I found it and thought it was cute)
I once was the child
Who fitfully changed clothes
When a fitful mood passed.
Tired of the belts and britches,
I would build a pile
Of tossed away tempers.
But one morning,
The tide came in
And washed away
Its littered beaches.
The clutter that had disdained the shores
Disappeared into dresser drawers.
Death is a funny thing. But I am, or I was, one might say, 78 at my time of passing. Since I was never religious, I didn�t go to Heaven or wherever everyone else goes. I just kind of sit around on Earth. My body has become 28 again, though not my mind. And Grandmother is here. I always thought she would be in Heaven, but she tells me she wasn�t as religious as I had gathered. Her body is 22, her mind is 83.
I have come to terms with my childhood, but I can�t say that I understand it. I tell this to Grandmother not long after my passing.
�Yes, I saw that, Ancelin,� she nods. �I think I can help you with this.�
�Really? How so?� I am still unsure of the abilities of a spirit.
Grandmother extends her hand.
�Let�s take a little journey, shall we? We do have eternity after all.�
I take her hand, which is soft and lineless with youth. It shocks me for a second, thinking of her this young but with 83 years under her belt all the same. It�s strange.
The air around us changes and the pictures rearrange themselves, then settle together. I blink. We are now in a white room with a locked window and a bouquet of flowers on the table.
My mother, Loretta, is propped up on a white bed, holding a sleeping baby. That�s me�and there is my father on a chair by the bed, his face tight with torment. I open my mouth to speak, and then hesitate. Grandmother turns and notices.
�Don�t worry, Ancy. They can�t hear you. This is just a memory,� she tells me.
�Oh. I see.� I study my mother. Her hair is black, like Grandmother�s, and her eyes are the color of honeyed amber. Grandmother�s are blue, but their facial structures show strong resemblance.
My mother�s eyes are shut. She looks tired and weak.
My father grieves silently. He appears so young. I wonder what he looks like when he smiles.
�Ancelin,� my mother says aloud, startling me, �we�ll call her Ancelin after my sister.� Grandmother breathes in sharply. The Ancelin I was named for died some years before my birth.
Baby Ancelin begins to cry.
�Take her Jim, will you?� Mother asks, stretching me out slightly to him. He doesn�t look up.
�It was supposed to be a boy.� I stiffen slightly. He always wanted a boy. It ruined my life. He was so ungrateful. I tried, didn�t he know that? My attempts were wasted.
Grandmother sighs.
�He talked for months about how he wanted a boy, Ancy. He was so excited about the birth of this boy, even though I warned him not to expect so much. When you were born, I was delighted, but your father felt let down. As for your mother, she couldn�t love you properly because Jim would not,� Grandmother said, watching her son-in-law pitifully.
My mother speaks, looking agitated. �It�s a girl, Jim. Take her.�
My father won�t. Grandmother turns.
�Let�s go.� We grip hands and are off.
We emerge in my father�s house, where I grew up. The kitchen is just as I remember it; yellow linoleum on the floors, and smooth white counters with a sunflower on the windowsill in a glass jelly jar. My mother loved them, and used to keep one there until after she left, and then they disappeared. I am nowhere in sight, but my parents are having an argument.
�You never knew about this,� Grandmother whispers as if they might hear her.
�I can�t take it, Jim!� My mother cries furiously. �What more can you ask from me? I promised you what I had on that alter, and I promised myself to you. But you lied. You said you would love me all my life, and you stopped when the girl was born.�
My father looks enraged. Many years have been added on to him, even though I know it has only been nine since my birth. His hair is thinning and he has adopted a bitter look.
�If you�re so into promises, Loretta, than you can�t leave me. I�m not letting you. You have your daughter to think of. I want nothing to do with her. You leave, and she goes with you.�
My mother looks like she wants to slap him. Grandmother lowers her head and I know she has seen all of this before.
�I won�t take her,� My mother spits through clenched teeth. �How dare you! She�s half-yours and you can�t deny it, Jim Harper. I can�t put up with you any longer. I love her, but I can�t support her like you can. And though I hate to leave her with you, there�s no choice. Because to stay, would be suicide.� I wince. Her words are harsh. My mother turns on her heel and slams the back door behind her. My father steadies himself and sits down, absolutely incensed. I already know what happens next. I come home and �Dad� tells me that my mother has left me and then he goes away too, back to work. I think I knew all along that my mother left him and not me. My father exits the kitchen shaking.
�That was important for you to see, Ancelin, you understand? I always knew she loved you,� Grandmother says, watching dust play in the sunlight, �but as for Jim...it�s a sad thing, to lose love. You didn�t when you married, I saw to that, Ancy. I wanted your life to be better than my Loretta�s.�
�What happened to Mother?� In life, I had wondered that many times, but there was no one to ask. Grandmother shrugs.
�What else could happen? She remarried, had a child I think. She wrote me once you see. But she was no good after your father. Over drank herself once and never woke up. She went to Heaven, if you were asking. Always was religious.� Grandmother shakes her head sorrowfully.
Another question surfaces in my mind. �Grandmother, was there anything I could have done to make my father love me?� Grandmother studies me briefly.
�I don�t think so. What you have to understand about your father, Ancelin, is that he was�he was a man who envisioned a perfect life that was all about his happiness. But you threw off his dream entirely just by being a girl and he despised you for it. He made the fatal mistake of closing himself off to you. If he had just for one moment, tried to be your father and love you�but, no, he was faulty and egotistical and ruined it not only for himself, but also for Loretta, and for you. I sometimes wished, when you were little, that I could kill him with my own bare hands because of what I could see he was doing to you and my daughter.�
Grandmother closes her eyes.
�But Ancelin.� She opens them and stares at me seriously. �Ancelin, that was a wish. That�s all it was. Don�t hate Jim because of his errs. There�s never any use to hate anyone. It just causes more trouble.�
�Grandmother, I would never hate him. If he had loved me like he should�ve, then I would never have had you.� Grandmother smiles.
�Funny how you�re almost my age now, Ancy. Yours eyes were always like a cat�s. I called you Catty when you were little, remember?� She laughs and I hug her.
I wish she didn�t have to bear so much pain with all of her children�s deaths. I wanted to do her good in life, and I hoped I had. But maybe I hadn�t done enough to make her proud. I glance at her face. At 78 now, I know I am just lying to myself. This woman loves me and will continue to love me no matter what I have done in existence, and even millions of years later.
�Have you seen enough, child?� Grandmother asks, observing me for signs of emotion.
�Yes. It�s nice to finally understand. We can go back now.�
Holding hands firmly, the kitchen begins to fade away, and the last thing I see is my mother�s sunflower watching us from the window.