Crow
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jun 12, 2000
- Messages
- 8,635
My Last Good-bye
Seated at the kitchen table,
The old Mahogany chair squeaked with my every squiggle
As I looked up with eyes glittering like shiny new quarters,
Through my black helmet of hair,
To see her, dressed in her favorite blue floral shirt, the one with the giant collar,
Hanging off her worn body,
Gently tucked into her neatly pressed polyester slacks.
Seated on a stool and surrounded by suitcases.
My mother stands behind her,
Gently brushing her marble gray hair, into a ponytail, then a bun.
My aunt gazes at me, seated on her stool
Looking at me with eyes, behind a spider web of wrinkles.
The tweaking sparkle of her eyes glowed through her tinted coke bottle glasses.
She steps off the stool
Landing on brown leather sandals, slapping the tile floor.
She spreads her arms asking me to come and hold her.
I bounce off the chair, making the usual ruckus of noise
Casually walking to her, to meet her blanketing grip,
Feeling the once strong arms strain to hold me,
Calmly rocking me in silence.
I feel the comforting warmth of her body, seeping into me one last time.
As her muscles fatigue trying not to let me go.
As I slide out of her grip I remember
This old woman making her last trip.
And I, never to set my eyes on her again.
And her never to see me grow.
------------------
"Deep in the human unconscious is a deep pervasive need for a logical universe that makes sense. But the real universe is always one step beyond logic."
Muad'Dib
Dune
Seated at the kitchen table,
The old Mahogany chair squeaked with my every squiggle
As I looked up with eyes glittering like shiny new quarters,
Through my black helmet of hair,
To see her, dressed in her favorite blue floral shirt, the one with the giant collar,
Hanging off her worn body,
Gently tucked into her neatly pressed polyester slacks.
Seated on a stool and surrounded by suitcases.
My mother stands behind her,
Gently brushing her marble gray hair, into a ponytail, then a bun.
My aunt gazes at me, seated on her stool
Looking at me with eyes, behind a spider web of wrinkles.
The tweaking sparkle of her eyes glowed through her tinted coke bottle glasses.
She steps off the stool
Landing on brown leather sandals, slapping the tile floor.
She spreads her arms asking me to come and hold her.
I bounce off the chair, making the usual ruckus of noise
Casually walking to her, to meet her blanketing grip,
Feeling the once strong arms strain to hold me,
Calmly rocking me in silence.
I feel the comforting warmth of her body, seeping into me one last time.
As her muscles fatigue trying not to let me go.
As I slide out of her grip I remember
This old woman making her last trip.
And I, never to set my eyes on her again.
And her never to see me grow.
------------------
"Deep in the human unconscious is a deep pervasive need for a logical universe that makes sense. But the real universe is always one step beyond logic."
Muad'Dib
Dune
