“So, you coming home for Christmas?”
You shake your head at me and I frown, hoping that I judged the head shake wrong.
“What the hell is that? A yes or a no?”
“That’s a negative.”
Why aren’t I surprised?
“Why not?”
“You know the reason why I am not coming home for Christmas.”
Yeah.
I know.
“That’s a silly reason not to come home.”
You remain silent.
I keep myself from ripping you a new one.
“You –know- it’s a silly reason.”
Are you even listening to me, your baby sister?
“You should come home.”
You look at me.
I know there is sadness etched in my face.
You look away.
Yeah.
Fuck you too.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Mother Dear
My dearest Mother,
It’s been a while since I talked to you, so I think now is a good time to sit down and have a chat. In the twenty-three years of my life, I never expected things to turn out this way. I always thought that you would never change, that there would never be warnings of your demise. Polar ice caps melting, the ozone layer blowing up. A lot of these things tend to set off red flags in my mind; hell it even got to the point where we as a human race have to constantly check the status of the water with a filter attached to the faucet. Who knew?
What I want more than anything, my Mother, is to be able to heal you with a single touch. A single caress that will let you know everything is going to be alright and that you no longer have to toss and turn in your sleep with worry. You would no longer have to ask yourself as you lay yourself down in the warmth of yourself, am I going to wake up tomorrow? You no longer would have to watch as the fields you worked so hard to create shrivel and pass into darkness. Yet, I can’t do that, at least not in the immediacy that I speak of.
It will take days, weeks, months and years to return everything to the way you had it. Mother dear, I will try my best to sort your house back into order. I will try my best to pick up the pieces and put them back into place, to bandage the dents and heal the harms. Alone, it will take more than a lifetime, but I think I can persuade a few friends to help me put right the wrongs we have caused.
Thanks for listening to me for a few minutes and know that I will do my best to make things good again for you. Just rest your tired feet and let me tuck you in for a change with a cup of tea and your favorite book in tow. Relax and let me handle the rest, Mother dear.
I love you.
It’s been a while since I talked to you, so I think now is a good time to sit down and have a chat. In the twenty-three years of my life, I never expected things to turn out this way. I always thought that you would never change, that there would never be warnings of your demise. Polar ice caps melting, the ozone layer blowing up. A lot of these things tend to set off red flags in my mind; hell it even got to the point where we as a human race have to constantly check the status of the water with a filter attached to the faucet. Who knew?
What I want more than anything, my Mother, is to be able to heal you with a single touch. A single caress that will let you know everything is going to be alright and that you no longer have to toss and turn in your sleep with worry. You would no longer have to ask yourself as you lay yourself down in the warmth of yourself, am I going to wake up tomorrow? You no longer would have to watch as the fields you worked so hard to create shrivel and pass into darkness. Yet, I can’t do that, at least not in the immediacy that I speak of.
It will take days, weeks, months and years to return everything to the way you had it. Mother dear, I will try my best to sort your house back into order. I will try my best to pick up the pieces and put them back into place, to bandage the dents and heal the harms. Alone, it will take more than a lifetime, but I think I can persuade a few friends to help me put right the wrongs we have caused.
Thanks for listening to me for a few minutes and know that I will do my best to make things good again for you. Just rest your tired feet and let me tuck you in for a change with a cup of tea and your favorite book in tow. Relax and let me handle the rest, Mother dear.
I love you.
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