She of the Sun (2016)

She of the Sun

For all the sons and daughters whose sources have made way for the sun.

 

She leaves the doors open

to let the light through,

make way for a breeze,

let the house breathe.

 

It was as if she knew exactly how the wind blew

so she could summon the scent of home into the rooms.

 

 She draws the curtains to the movements of the sun.

 

She, daughter of sweet siestas,

sister of Sundays

set to songs of sepia,

immortalized in hums,

merging with the rising

trail of smoke, scent

of finely crafted suppers.

 

Mother, feeder of my hunger

Reason I am full and always wanting more

Wanting to be more, for her, 

from the first step and every step further.

 

She whispers that I can fly.

 

She, lap for my naps,

fingers through my pigtails

and braided birthdays.

Fluffing the ruffles of party skirts,

source of rippling laughter.

The one at the end of an afternoon’s run,

arms outstretched, my destination.

Cure to splinters and scratches,

that touch, tender.  Kiss on the forehead,

tuck of the blanket  after the lullaby. She

stands by. Mother, maker of futures,

guardian of dreams.

 

She, lady who flips the flaps

of schoolday lunch bags,

quick with ease, sealing for me

a special taste, firm

certainty. Like an embrace

after a heartbreak. She knows,

she whispers: It will all be better.

 

Like the way a dark hallway is lit by the afternoon,

through the windows, the heavens flood in.

Bringer of light, she draws the curtains.

 

The doors are open. Still.

The wind blows a cool breeze.

The rooms are as she would please.

She lives.

Light falls, it rests.

She rests.

Everything is at ease.

 

————————

Originally written around four years ago for another friend’s mother’s passing. Revisited and tweaked the verses for another friend’s mother who has made way for the sun. 

Hopefully, I will also be able to complete the verses about my own father’s journeys soon. Or whenever the heart and soul would please. 

 

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