Categories
Illness Mothers Poetry Spirituality Women Writing

612

 

Each time the phone rings

Each “612” area code

Sends panic down my spine

White knuckles my constant way

Burning me cold as ice

 

Tending to life

My world

In my prime

Ripe with possibilities

The phone rings through

My hands slippery as Minnesota black ice

 

Wrestling to pick up before voicemail

Hands shaking

Fumbling, rumbling, thick with anticipation

The call I’ve been dreading

Not yet, not now

 

Relief coursing through to the bone

We connect

Unable to articulate her feelings

She sticks to yes’ and no’s

As twenty questions ensue

 

My voice calm as a patient Mother

One she never was

Or could ever be

Her voice wracked with frustration

Unable to express her need

 

My right arm tremoring with fear

Holding the voice steady yet the body

Expressing the truth I am unable to allow

Me struggling to understand her need

She attempting to understand herself

 

Twenty questions adding a half hour plus

Pauses ripe with meaning

We shared more through the silence

Then when misunderstood words filled our lives

A Mother and Daughter at odds

Now simply filled with love

 

Our hearts creating clarity of understanding

No past allowed interference

Simply the mind searching for the words

And as the heart opened to receive

We found our way to mutual need

 

Union without bounds

Words without definitions

Sharing without requirements

Joy without expectations

Hearts without walls