My Mother and the Invincible Woman (1)

The death of a woman. The death of a mother. The death of it all. Waiting, watching the clock, feeding off the tragedy, trying to remain upbeat. Growing in and out of sadness, like a train comes and goes from the station. The diminishing, the body, broken, overcome. Finally we wait. My mother, sitting there, just sat there. I wonder for her. I break too, ever so silently, slightly at times. Slowly we fade away. Invincible woman, how do you tick?

I can feel your glory, of shadows and truth. Poignant and golden were our moments, my memories, of you. I hold them in my treasure chested heart. Never to be released, never shall I let go of you. A piece of you. Forever with me. Like the places, the other magicians I have known, the others who told me to be different, told me to be honest, true to the sky and the trees and my beating pulse, my unique air. A piano, whispers into the night, speaking to me, from your fingers. You are everything, you are what you are. Beautiful and precisely you. 

Now you are motionless, mind still ticking. My mother watches you. She adores you until your ending. Beyond, and further. Perfect stones. Polished, gliding over the water, the peaceful reflection. When they finally dip and enter the water to drop to the bottom they are but colossal memories. Only the stone is gone, the body, nothing could remove the journey, how you travelled, who you were, the beauty of every second shared. It is infinity. Only infinity. My beautiful women, swimming us home.