mother mountain

she's around 55. probably closer to 60. deep skin colored like a deer’s hide, with splotches of blush on her nose, cheeks, and forehead. too much sun in her youth has given her 'happy lines' that trail from ear to ear. if you didn’t look close enough you would miss the dirt speckles underneath her sunken green eyes. these dirt speckles mix into her thick strands of hair that whisp over her ears and forehead. her mane is painted grey here, dark brown there. a combination everywhere else and matted none the less. she pins it back with a few bronze bobby pins that shine in the light when she waters the ferns, azaleas, heaths, and lilies that endlessly grow from the front to the back porch. it's a jungle that just so happened to swallow a house whole.
she moves well for a middle aged woman. hands with a firm grip but a soft touch. she gracefully dashes from plant to plant, giving each its own undivided attention; they do deserve their 'special time' with Mother. when Mother moves its like a form of dance, pointed toes as she reaches over the railing, hands fluttering above, searching for fingertips of the clouds.
age has come well for Mother. she went to a university in the south, studied the arts and went on road trips with groups of other nature-loving people like herself. she once traveled across the Middle East and Asia, where she discovered the greed of the white and the heart of the yellow. her perspective had been changed and she fully learned the meaning of a dollar, how to bear the bitter cold of the night, and how giving the world can be.
one might wonder, "Does Mother have a family? A husband? Anything?"
but Mother doesn't worry about the labels of society and what is deemed acceptable by American standards. Mother learned of the women of Bali, who need no mans say in what they do. instead, the Bali women make the decisions, do the finances, and fix the marriages. That’s if they even want to be married.
although Mother would have, indeed, been a good Mother, she has no fruit of her own. after college and her years of travel, she settled into the place that you see now. a single story mountain house painted dark green, with black, tattered shutters, and sturdy, carved wooden door, and a large front porch.
in truth, Mother has everything. the air that gives her breath, her lungs that help process the air, her eyes that see all that can be seen, a heart that sees what her eyes can not, and the happiness of a woman who has been from one end of the world to the other. not many people can say the same about their own structured lives. the fast paced city life was no place for Mother. the suits, ties, and tan panty hose was no attire for a trail blazing woman like Mother. the bitter, boring role of a house wife was no life for a driven, adventurous woman like Mother. the everyday morning coffee, cream cheesed bagel, 9 A.M. clock in, 8 hour work day, stuck in a cubicle endlessly typing away about taxes, bills, and credit would have never fit a woman like Mother. she belonged in the wild among those who accepted her for her curves, her slightly turned smile, her boyish laugh, sly remarks, and unkempt ways. Mother was exactly who she wanted to be.

and all she had to do was choose happiness.

it's all a game i don't want to play

A dear friend of mine once gave me a wonderful book- The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. Now it is one of my favorite books of all time.
This book contains the most beautifully sad poem I have ever read. I wanted to share it with you because it has personal meaning for me as it did my dear friend. Knowing that he too had shared this pain, showed me that I am not alone in this game.


"once on a yellow piece of paper,
he wrote a poem
and he called it "chops"
because that was the name of his dog.
and that's what it was about

and his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
and his mother hung it on he door
and read it to his aunts

that was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
and let them sing on the bus
that was the year his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
and his mother and father kissed a lot
and the girl around the corner sent him a
valentine signed with a row of x's
and he had to ask his father what the x's meant
and his father always tucked him in at night
and was always there to do it

once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem called "autumn"
because that was the name of the season
and that's what it was all about

and his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
and the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
and left butts on the pews
and sometimes they would burn holes

that was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
and the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see santa claus
and the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
and his father never tucked him in at night
and got mad
when he cried for him to do it

once on a piece of paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
called "innocence; a question"
because that was the question about his girl
and that's what is was all about

and his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
becaue he never showed her

that was the year that Father Tracy died
and he forgot how the end
of apostle's creed went
and he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
and his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
and the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
that made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
and at three a.m he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly

that's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
and he called it "absolutely nothing"
becaue that's what it was really about
and he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
and he hung it on that bathroom door
because he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen"


Growing up ain't easy.