Hug

She looks like a teenager there on the couch, her white hair fresh cut, her eyes innocent, trying to understand the world I’m raging on about. 

I think, it’s safe to hug her now.

I put her arms around me, lay my head on her shoulder. Rest. 

Her arms begin to tighten.

How did she get to be so strong?

In my ear, the old voice says, I’m sorry, I was a terrible mother.

Those old arms have locked tight. I struggle to get free.

Come back, I cry. Come back to the present. Tell me you love me!

She says the words. I know she wants them to be true.

I say them back to her. She nods slowly. She wants them to be true.

An old brain is like a bridge built up with mud and straw.

They say some people lived on London Bridge their whole lives. 

Is it a bridge if you never leave it? 

Advertisements

One thought on “Hug

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s