In Honor of The Good

They need someone to change their world

From one woman,

and her deteriorating inner world.

The mother who never really was.

Almost,

There was a night,

Always on Saturdays

That I could find a mother

hidden behind the defensive,

broken, girl.

On Saturday she would make

her homemade stir-fry,

With peas from her garden.

And, if it burned,

She wouldn’t explode,

She would laugh,

After saying,

It’s just cajun now,

Teeth showing,

Voice raspy from years of smoking,

We would sit on the back porch,

Listening to radio, hoping to hear her beloved DJ, Shark,

She draws in chalk on the wood,

“I miss Shark!”

And cries out playful to the heavens.

We laugh,

until dusk brings mosquitoes.

And deep into the next morning,

She shared her passion,

We painted in oils,

And anything was a masterpiece.

As brief as those moments were,

I share them.

I hope that those memories

Buoy the girls,

Above the darkness of the present.

Published by sickybeat

I am a writer with an extremely active imagination. I love learning answers to questions and what makes everything and everyone tick. I am a "Unique case, medically" if nothing else. I am flawed in my extreme aversion to failure (even when "success" isn't good for me,) but have come a long way in ditching the perfectionist mindset. I like people whose default setting toward others is compassion, an open mind, and honesty

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