Still Here Somehow

The warm breeze blows my long hair in tiny circles.
Flows like honey.
'Spun Gold' Mamma says.
I watch it, taste it now salty, damp with a promise.
Always a broken promise here.

He asked Mamma to be his bride on her 17th birthday.
'Prettier than a summer rose' he tells the story. She smiles.
They raised us on his family's land.
He sits at the head of the table and sees his family. He is proud.
She is proud of him.

Strong back, clean apron, the heart of our home.
'If it don't rain soon we'll lose it all' he says.
Heard those words since too much ice-cream was never enough.
Still here somehow.
The light touch of her steadies him. She is his rock.

Mamma gives me a smile so readily.
She goes hungry to nourish me.
In the morning we walk five miles to the neighbour who's feeling poorly.
She brings them something from her garden.
Sings to me on the way back home.

'Dinners ready' comes the familiar call.
Join hands now 'Thanks to God for this thy bounty' They sit together. She speaks quietly to him, 'I'll sell my ring' I hear her say 'Can't eat gold'.

They watch the sunset, their ritual for days end.
Her head is on his shoulder.
His brown hand gently strokes her cheek.
They are silent. I see more than any word ever spoken.
Never a tear when the ring is gone.

Crickets sing their lazy song.
I watch the sky change from red to gold on the horizon.
Embers in the fire that still hold a memory of the blaze.
Clouds gather.
I make my way into the field and breathe deep.

The grass is long here, same colour as me.
Cool breeze blows us together. Honey flows in my hand.
'Scissors aren't very sharp, I'll cut it as short as I can'
'Can't eat gold'
Never a tear.

He worked on his familys land until his body broke.
Alone now, she watches the sunset
She tells the story of him, staring off to the distance. She smiles.
Faith, grace and dignity held her strong.
But she died, at last, of a broken heart.

As I stand in our kitchen, Mamma's kitchen I hold her apron close and breathe her in.
Tie it around my waist, strong back.
Looking at the chair where he used to sit.
I see an angel.

She is my own sweet cherub.
She has the same hair 'Like spun gold' Grandma would have said.
I nourish her.
She fills me up and now I understand.
Still here somehow.

Zela