Mother

by Hannah Johanson

We sat down with our backs touching –

each heavy breath of mine – pressing

gently against your cool skin. The faded

 

rays of sunlight mixed with the dust of

my room – floating aimlessly through

the space – surrounding our two beings.

 

We read aloud – or more so, you read –

your gentle voice casting the multitude

of thoughts, opinions, and gestures into

 

the air – with each occasional breath –

or pause in your soft speech.  I listened –

digesting the words until my belly filled

 

with the sweet sensation of imparted

wisdom – those tales of my past – the

stories of you. You breathed – out life –

 

from the curved lips of your mouth –

tantalizing me with its graceful form.

I gazed off toward the end of the room –

 

watching the tiny spurts of water drip

quickly from the overflowing gutter.

I breathed – sighing deeply until your

 

words meshed like thick filtered cream –

spinning me softly into a reverie.  Lifting

me upward with the drone of your voice –

 

the savory murmurings carrying me away,

kidnapping me from the constant thoughts –

the uninterrupted rhythm of lost time and

 

unfulfilled desires – pulsing through me –

never ending.  I suck back in – inhaling the

strong fragrance of your perfume – dragging

 

me downward again – I glance at the opened

door – the curious passerby is standing –

watching as you read my slow paced narrative –

 

and me, sitting like a child in your arms.

You smile – the pursed lips stretched back

to reveal a calm glimpse of happy – your tired

 

wrinkles exposing the years of my life –

wrapping the long robe around my trembling

bones – we sit together – Mom and I.