Monday, January 16, 2012

Advice and Experiences

I used to be the little girl that could
laugh, smile, twirl, and play
and Mommy, you always taught me well.

Those were years before today
and now we all come and go
with some hellos and some slammed doors.

Maybe I was little once,
maybe I was your little girl,
but I’ve always been your little girl.

I’m older now. I’ve reached my full height.
I’ve seen problems and accidents;
I’ve settled in storms and riddled with rain.

I know that death’s hand is typically cold
and that they never look peaceful, despite what they say.
I know that heartbreak comes in parking lots.

I know how to get back home.
I have memorized names and numbers;
I can decipher trust by weight in my palms.

But now I see that you, Mommy,
may have just been lucky with me.
What all exactly did you teach me?

Did you teach me how to cope with friends
that told me themselves they searched for death?
And what did you say to me that day?

Did you teach me how to come up for air
when they took me, shook me, clamped on my mouth,
and deflated my lungs from sweet summer breath?

Did you teach me how to walk alone
with standards and the weight of responsibility
forcing me back into the earth?

Now that I have eyes of my own,
and now that I have acquired wisdom
with experience, I’ve concluded that

you were never by yourself, but you
convinced yourself that you were.
You told yourself that you did your best.

Mommy, you should know that running
gets you further away from the fuss,
but nowhere near resolution.


Day Fifteen, and the word is....

[des-uh-nuh' ns]
a termination or ending, as the final line of a verse

Found: searched online. I didn't come across an unknown word today.


Happy MLK Day, everyone!

Also, does anyone listen to Michelle Featherstone? I may start.