Categories
Grief Mothers Poetry Spirituality Women Writing

Entering the Cave

The warehouse bedazzled
A cave full of riches
Smells from Mother’s world
Wafted through
Filling her with almost dread
Boxes piled high
Reflecting a life well garnished
Spying the highest box
The Daughter reached
As best she could
Tip toeing
Extending her arms
To where her fingers
Barely brushed
The cardboard
Arms stretched
Ascending, Scaling
Moving boxes
Becoming a metaphor
For final moments
With one push
One last empty extension
Her fingers somehow
Scooched the bottom
Flying through the air
A trunk full of treasures
Landed in her arms
She held fast
As a Mother
Cradling her newborn
The final bits of stuff
Fill the void
Of lost conversations
Each keepsake a delight
Post It notes
Strategically placed
Offer comfort
Her voice still alive
Mother becoming
A private tour guide
Post It notes leading the way
“George would die
  If he knew how much money
Cleo and I spent
decorating the house...”
 “We found that jade frog
  when we went to China…
  Don’t you remember?”
 ”And that silver pattern
is simply scrumptious..."
A second box?
Of course!
There is silver
Lots of it
Tons of it
No need for cleaning
Delegating the task
Each peace spit and polished
Just before packing
With blue Post It notes
Wanting to insure their purpose
Becoming Mother’s voice
Hearing her clear as day
Another box?
Please!
Pictures
Life with Mom
The Zoo
The park
Disneyland
High School graduation
Mom in her clowning days
Moving boxes and paper
Liter the landscape
While orchestrating a clean up
Of stuffed boxes filled with  paper
A photograph
Flies from nowhere
Mother
Kissing Daughter's forehead
Again
She runs the show
As well it should be
Another box?
Sure…
The third box
Less confronting
Crisp white linens
Way out of date
Mother loved to entertain
All cloth
No paper aloud at her table
Excepting, perhaps
A used cocktail napkin
Keeping linens unsoiled
Another?
O.K.
Treasure chest number five
This one particularly coiled
The ripping
The tearing
Each piece of tape
Reminding her of old wounds
Childhood promises unmasked
Undone, incomplete
Rip
Choosing the husband
Over the daughter
The child left alone
Silent
Rip
Promising an adventure
Then forgetting
The child left behind
Silent
Rip
Friends not knowing
Mom had a daughter
The child invisible
Silent
Rip
Silent
Rip
Silent
Pain unleashed
Tears stream
Each object
Each gift
Now a burden
Rocking
Hugging
Cradling her grief
Ah an explosion of warmth
A calming salve
Comforting
Consoling
Mother’s unbridled tenderness
Stopping cold
The flood of emptiness
Filling her heart space
With nothing but love
Lifting a pain soaked childhood
Now understanding
Mother’s deepest regrets
Were her own fears
Yet in her heart of hearts
The daughter always came first
Always
Tears flowed
Not from grief
But from
Abiding love
The boxes becoming
Once more
An adventure
A discovery
A delight
Another box?
Yes
The Daughter
Reaches into the next
Treasure trunk
Full of silver