  |
|
|
|
Waiting for Lucinda©
Watching through the kitchen window. Your nose is pressed against the glass and your breath makes steam that clouds your view. But still you are watching the driveway outside and the headlights of the cars that pass by our house in the night and you wonder if one will stop for you tonight. A fancy car you imagine, with Carolina plates and a well dressed black woman at the helm. In this dream of yours, she honks the horn, she leans out the window. She has your eyes and your smile and she calls, "Come on, son, it's time to go home."
After all... no one ever really said that she wouldn't. Before now. I had to be the one. And you don't believe me, so it doesn't count. I swallow down a world-sized lump as I watch you there, my forlorn little boy. I wonder if you'll ever love me. I wonder if there's room in your heart for another mother, maybe if we push the pain aside... Is it my right to push aside your pain? Do I even have a right to interrupt this dream of yours long enough to feed you a good meal before you go - once more - on the trip in the fancy car that never goes anywhere beyond here? And I wait because I know that, with a final, shuddering sigh, you will come back to me, weary from the journey and wary of my arms that reach to hold you. And you are ready to try again to take a few faltering steps forward in life, always fearing that the memory will mow you clear down the next time rather than just simply push you back. And you ask me the ever-present questions again. "Mom," you whisper into my shoulder that you are tall enough to bury your face in, and wrap your arms clear around my waist. "Was I a good baby?" "I'm sure you were the best little baby that this world has ever seen," I mumble to the top of your head. Go To Page: 1 2 |
|
|
|
