It was a day I woke up early from vivid dreams. Vivid velvet dreams. The kind I want to cut out and paste into a scrapbook so I can remember them. Make pictures I could point to on a page. So I could say they were real.
It was a day the children felt like sandpaper, abrasive with constant crying and questioning. Whining or why?ing incessantly. I saw rough edges. I saw I needed smoothing. Patience has a price. A day for sanding the soul.
It was a day the clouds rained while the sun shone. Driving to dance class we sat in bright sunshine. What was dripping onto the windshield? Rain. Light rain. It endured as droplets, staying on the glass. Islands of water. Beaded jewelry to see.
It was a day I had to be steel and stone. I had to be sympathetic and soft. At the same time. At the clinic. When Baby needed blood drawn. And big sisters became frightened. They left to pick out stickers while I became a human brace.
It was a day I baked cookies before bedtime. Chocolate and carob, oatmeal and cherry. Whole wheat. Wheat germ. Solid. Good cookie. Eat them while warm, crumbling under fingertips. Sit down with a cup of tea: let the chocolate linger on the lips.
It was a night I wished for dreams. Velvet dreams. Silk dreams. Dreams I could wrap myself inside and hide. Deep and warm. A dream like a lavender bath where I immerse myself and don’t emerge until morning. I come out clean.
1 response so far ↓
1 Katherine // Mar 6, 2004 at 9:36 pm
This piece left me sitting still, quiet, pensive, listening, wanting more. You have such a way with words. Tangible descriptions that allow us to be there with you. Thank you.