Sunday, February 4, 2018

Invisible, umbilical

Another day, a kind face,
another woman's tears,
and I am softened, and restored to heartfulness,
a painting without definition,
warm with color,
streaked with possibilities
attempted and rejected:
too little contrast, and yet,
still more than I can bear
in this fragile state,
recovering from moods I find
may not have been my own, influenced
(as I still am)
by invisible threads that tie me still
to daughters far away,
some heart-ordained connection
that thrives untroubled by distance
or awareness:
they hurt, or snap, and something in me
echoes their disheartenment,
and seeks to find
an explanation in my own experience
that may or may not exist because
the impulse to ache or wound may stem
from some source far away,
carried along the cord invisible, umbilical
that stretches across the Sound
and still holds remnants of an unforgotten memory;
my mother's dying thoughts, voiced by my daughter,
awakened in the night;
confusion followed by a phone call
announcing the unexpected ending to her tale.

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