If I'd to write a book about my mother, that would be the one place she could always be the main character and not on the sidelines, she would know how to love without killing them twice cause once didn't feel enough and maybe she'll always have a c...
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You know how you turn pages of your childhood memories, stored in those albums captured by a camera that would be too old for today's polaroid? Mom does it too at times. Every time her fingers graze those photos, it's like she's trying to live them again, visiting abandoned constellations that have a lot to say or a shed of happiness that never returned. [The blanket-covered sky or in the dangling flowers of my tea pot, she liked the color blue but disliked the former like a corporate officer on duty.]
Her eyes roamed around the smiles and hands reaching towards the sky, as the childlike me and my sister played in our late house that now remains empty like the echo in my ears on a wandering day in the sunlight, a reminisce never touched. Moonlight in a quiet garden, that was my mother's beauty. But I wondered if the light itself kissed her sullen figure anymore. Or was it just me, watching her dancing silhouette in a broken streetlight?
The sun is too heated for the shadow to be felt, even the luminescence plays like a child; barely aware. Mom and her love was similar - there was enough light from the sun but no shade to stay in.
Here's what the poet has to confess:
This poem sought to evoke the bittersweet nostalgia of revisiting childhood memories through the lens of a mother's reflection. The imagery of turning pages in albums, captured by an old camera, serves as a metaphor for the passage of time and the wistful desire to relive moments that have faded into the past.
Through the mother's contemplation of these memories, aimed to convey a sense of longing and introspection, as she navigates the emotional landscape of happiness tinged with sorrow. The juxtaposition of abandoned constellations and fleeting moments of joy speaks to the transient nature of human experience and the longing for connection to the past.
The mention of the color blue, disliked by the mother despite her fondness for it, adds a layer of complexity to her character, hinting at unresolved emotions and contradictions within her personality. The imagery of the empty house and the echoing silence further reinforces the theme of absence and longing.
As the passage progresses, the focus shifts to the relationship between the mother and the narrator, particularly the narrator's perception of her mother's beauty and the subtle hint of melancholy that accompanies it. The comparison between the sun's relentless heat and the absence of shade reflects the complexity of the mother's love, which, like the sun, provides warmth and illumination but lacks the comforting embrace of shadow.
"I hope you're holding on tight because there will be plenty of bumps along our journey, but I hope you'll enjoy the highs while they last.
