Since I haven't been writing much lately, I've been digging in my journals. Here's some more stuff I found. I had completely forgotten about this one, but I think it is worth posting...
To Mama
That winter,
after I’d rejoined them,
they surprised me with an electric keyboard
on which I'd later write sorrowful songs...
In that picture,
where she held my head close to her heart,
my face was a congested shade of purple
that matched her dress...
I'd wake up at night
and follow the sad music to the kitchen
where she'd be hunched over a sinkful of boredom.
She'd turn around and smile
and I'd sit there, at the table beside her
swinging my feet and imagining
the distant harbors of the song...
Those nights
she'd drive us around the city
translating French songs
and sneaking cigarettes.
It was on one of those nights
that she wanted to send me away
to be great...
And now I'm away,
but great is another matter.
These nights
I swallow the air
and wait to get dizzy.
I stare at my feet
and plan for a life without...
These days
I try to be great
but end up small
and solitary and silent.
These days
I turn my face
to endless woods
wrapping me like a shroud...
I hover, I bob,
I ebb and flow...
(Originally posted on June 14, 2006)
To Mama
That winter,
after I’d rejoined them,
they surprised me with an electric keyboard
on which I'd later write sorrowful songs...
In that picture,
where she held my head close to her heart,
my face was a congested shade of purple
that matched her dress...
I'd wake up at night
and follow the sad music to the kitchen
where she'd be hunched over a sinkful of boredom.
She'd turn around and smile
and I'd sit there, at the table beside her
swinging my feet and imagining
the distant harbors of the song...
Those nights
she'd drive us around the city
translating French songs
and sneaking cigarettes.
It was on one of those nights
that she wanted to send me away
to be great...
And now I'm away,
but great is another matter.
These nights
I swallow the air
and wait to get dizzy.
I stare at my feet
and plan for a life without...
These days
I try to be great
but end up small
and solitary and silent.
These days
I turn my face
to endless woods
wrapping me like a shroud...
I hover, I bob,
I ebb and flow...
(Originally posted on June 14, 2006)
2 comments:
the relationship you have with your mother, the more i learn (and discover), seems more and more real in that it becomes more and more complicated.
this is just another piece in the puzzle of what ashraf is. and lovely.
also, am so digging the buttons!! your sister's is the hottest. makes me want to click it, the wilting orange 3 has a sort of come-hither effect.
^_^
Isn't everyone's relationship with their mother complicated? Ah, the puzzle of what we are!
I am glad you like the buttons; finally, I got started (even if by stealing a couple of yours ;) I'm still tweaking them as I go... Getting busy in here!
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