Her stories live - in the lining of my skin.
From birth to rebirth, all down eternity,
retold in dim rooms, and across open sea,
till they’re woven out and again woven in.
Braided into my hair when I was a child,
melded into the weight heaved by the adult,
like leaf shadows on my windows, old and dulled
by pain, like the glint of teeth each time I smiled;
they glow in the games I played by the roadside
on flights of jewelled daydreams I went alone;
in cold breaths of breath, fused in the bones of bones,
in lapsed lifetimes and those not yet occupied.
However far I fly, small or deep I dive,
they beam their muted threads into all my lives.
Last week was my mother's birthday. My twenty something-th year to mark the occasion away from her, in a different city/country/continent. But really, what do physical distances even matter?
This is the one cord that's never cut, not in this lifetime, nor in the next seven. Or seventeen. i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)...through a million births if there were/are to be a million.