by Anjali Enjeti
If we could go back in time
you’d see my expression of love at your birth
how my breast became your sanctuary
my humming quelled your cries
how bedtime stories unspooled our love language.
There was a time before you learned how to crawl or walk
when I did not know where you began and I ended
and the only endings I craved as the sun dipped below the horizon and the
night blanketed the sky, were your chubby limbs and dimpled hands
curled into my own.
These are complicated times.
I lack thread to sew this torn cloth
was never much of a mender to begin with.
I have no answers. Even
the questions confound me.
My words are mere bandages to your faults in the earth
my girth too porous a buffer
my springing arm no match for Newton’s first law of motion
and the windshield.
These are complicated times. Still –
I wade through rough waters to reach you
tip-toe down the hallway to your bedroom
crack the door
gaze at your face illuminated by the laptop’s screen
leave a steaming mug of tea steeping on the kitchen counter
with just the right amount of honey
a note signed Love, Mom deposited on your pillow,
next to your dried tears.
When you are lost and in pain,
remember my womb my darling
how it once held the perfect space for you.
Remember our lullabies slightly off key
our hearts beating in unison
the sway of the glider-rocker
and those brief, sacred moments,
when our worlds orbited only one another.
About the painter – Eric Sorensen is a medical student and artist who loves painting, drawing, and photography. After college he studied painting at the San Francisco Art Institute. Image: Painting, acrylic medium and fabric dye on panel (2014), part of a series exploring the movement of translucent colors.