Ice Water
It was like she was tearing her away from my life;
An almost surgical destruction of a once beautiful embrace.
The picture looked like a piece of abstract art.
I'm sure if her dancing bones would have allowed,
her thumb would have rolled over and struck the
flint...letting the butane destroy the pain in front of her.
...My pain
Instead the other half of my story
lay quietly at the foot of my mother's recliner
...Still smiling,
her eyes indifferent to the shattering world around her.
I wondered where she was,
if this torn piece of history burning through
my palms would be the last time I would hold her.
I couldn't help but plead with God for a moment,
not able to stand the bitter taste of fate's insult to
my pride
...my romanticism's hope.
My mother calls me to the next room,
begging ice water for a parched tongue.
As I walk to the foot of her bed,
she smiles.
"What a handsome man.
Any woman would be lucky to have you."
I can find strength for nothing but a nod,
and I bow my head to kiss the top of hers.
"You'll find the one son,
no one deserves it more than you."
I take her glass and hold it to my chest,
perhaps subconsciously hoping it will cool
my overworked heart.
I thank her for being the woman that she is,
and tell her she's the only one I need anyway.
I can feel her eyes follow me out of the room,
all the back into my seclusion.
I fill her cup and take a breath.
"...Tomorrow"
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved
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