Reflection
October 13, 2017
They told me
not to cry
whatever I do
when I saw my mother
at Valleyhead
She had left me
and my baby sister
to stay with her mother
in the labyrinthian two story brick house
on Off Lord Road
You count days
like months
when you are six
and it has been
years
since I saw her
She waddled over
from behind the grand piano
and kissed me on the mouth
as we always have
she tasted of cigarettes
familiar yet off-putting
We sat in this room
carpeted in russet floral patterns
that others traced
in their stocking feet
while we held hands
laughing
She showed me a picture
a girl here painted for her
to make her not miss us so much, she said
"This is you, and this is your sister" she said pointing at the canvas
"Why do we not have faces?" I asked nervously
"It is abstract. It is so you can be anything you want to be" she offered.
I smiled running my fingers over the brush strokes
before
My aunt and her mother
my wardens
wanton and weary
said it was time to go
too soon - the sun had not yet set
in the ashen winter sky
My mother hugged me
again
At the door
"I love you miss muffit"
she said
her voice cracking
like the ice
beneath
my feet
I felt it and knew
I could not stop
salt burned
my frozen cheeks
as I was pulled
into the car
"Look what you did. You know what you just put her through. How could you do that. We told you not to cry" my aunt scolded as I slumped in the bench back seat.
It would be twenty years
before my mother told me
why she was there
how she tried
and
failed
and for this
I am grateful
I still have this painting
It hangs in my bathroom
high on the wall
It took decades
to take down
the memory
of the shame
hung on
a six year old
for crying
But I have done it
I have finally found my face
Painting by M. Reed
2 comments
Wow. Again.
ReplyDeleteDeep, I can feel the hurt.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing.