Dear kindness Mother, there is still much to discover. How the sky arrives to us in big puffy masses? How humanity has assumed, humans would always be at the top of the food chain.
now something is eating us. Or was it always. So we ask: How safe are our mask? How did it happened? How careless were we not to recognized?
but there in another instant, as the morning dew, replenishes- ancient- Mother. Too my surprise! I saw faith in a beautiful world, once so far apart. Once too distant to notice, a full sweeping-wind. Too busy to care about the smell the of marigolds or watch a daisy spin.
Dotted I’s. me- me-me and mine. A worldly -worlds’ consuming…
And now I see, a pulling together. Imam’s, Priests, Pastors, Rabbi, Master’s, Bishops,Pope, Witch doctors, Sky-Mother, Guru’s, Druids, and even those to sacred to tell.
Praying for healing blessing Mother Earth to be Well.
Just the other day, I ran into the early years of myself. Barely, 4 feet tall, mostly all knees and elbows. I knew it was me, The sun became the smile on both sides of my cheeks. The wind never did know how to style my hair.
Laughter and I were two peas in a pod. Laughing so hard, til my spleen ached in between the moments of leaving home so mama could find another job and a better place to live. Those were hard and good times. Times of pruning and turning. Times uncertain yet worthy of learning.
They were the years the taught me the most resilience. Mama always had a bounce back, (back-bone) spirit. Even now, Mama still wears her smile like its’ Sunday.
She leans over from her hospital bed takes a few sips of steamy Chamomile and says “chile, just smiling, that’s makeup’ enough for me.”
Mama never did believe God made anyone old. Just grace enough to keep on living.
Mama: “getting old was a concept man made. You know, the beauty that God gave, never get’s old. Even when life beats at you or dust-your-coat a few times. So what! You gotta, keep picking up that dust. Blowin’ it back to the wind. If gets down into your eyes and makes your face, get all red and puffy. Wipe that snot off.
Mama: “Crying is the water of life. So if I’m crying, I’m still here. If I’m in pain. My body make a little noise at night . I’m still striving, cause I’m still here.”
Poetry PotLuck: I Love Lucille Clifton Homage to her Hips even though I am small frame I see my hips as magic too, and her words lift me… the power in a woman… Her Poem moves me to have that Self love talk in the Mirror hey “My life loves me”…
Homage to My Hips
BY LUCILLE CLIFTON
these hips are big hips
they need space to
move around in.
they don’t fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don’t like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top!
I am Eva -former refugee, doctor and a writer. My parents were Holocaust survivors, I escaped communism. I wrote a novel, mixing family stories and fiction. A novel about Holocaust, communism, racism and emigration. What makes people leave, and what happens to the ones who do, and to the ones who stay. I believe these old stories are more important now than ever before.