Quietly they steal away
The reflections of a challenging day.
The pictures that skipped across my view
go scattering into the night,
Only to wind their way back
into my brain
Through the pathways
of my dreams.
Picture taken in Trujillo, Honduras. Photo and poem productions of L. J. Priest
All rights reserved.
Look here, I can tell you what you need.
But why should you choose to listen to me? After all, I am a nobody.
Just your mother.
I am only the woman who, through an act of passion or violence, conceived you.
My body was only the one who allowed the space needed for your ultimate conception.
My insides alone housed your very beginnings, when those miraculous molecules of yours decided to fuse together, and bond, and radiate a tiny, but detectable human being.
Your existence only began inside my very womb, which sheltered your form, and protected you when your life was at its most vulnerable stage.
I ate the foods that you told me I craved. I took supplements to insure the enhancement of your creation.
I sought the advice of physicians and specialists in an earnest attempt to bring your body to its initial fruition.
When you decided you were ready to face this world, I alone birthed you into existence. My body purged you through an opening that is usually only reserved for urine and penises. Yet, that small opening in me expanded and changed so that you might make your magnificent entrance into this world.
After your belabored birth, my body than chose to feed you; at all hours of the day or night, in any circumstance, whether in private or public; flawlessly nourishing you so that you could live and grow.
You developed as I watched over you; hovering when you needed me, giving you distance when you didn’t.
You grew, you explored, you dared to learn about things far and wide; yet I never for a moment considered you anyone else’s responsibility but mine.
These roads that you now travel with your wisdom and courage, let me tell you that I already know them. For I was, at times 13, 16, 18, and 21. I saw the best and the worst of those years, I know them all like the back of my hand.
And here you are – at 27, scorning my religious choices, and my belief in God, whom you say doesn’t exist.
But let me tell you, that this God that you choose not to believe in – He knows you, more closely than even I do. For who do you think I talked to when I had questions about becoming a parent? Who do you think I prayed to during those nights while you lay in bed with a high fever and various ailments? Who do you think caused you to come into being as a person and a mother?
It wasn’t just me.
So maybe, when you get done figuring out your complex life and all of those multitudes of things that now make up your day that you have already figured out without my help; maybe, just maybe at some point, during a quiet moment, you should turn your thoughts to Him, and marvel at His complexity and divinity.
But you won’t do it, and I know that you won’t listen to what I am telling you and that’s ok. For what do I know?
After all, I am only your mother.
Story and photograph by L. J. Priest. All rights reserved.
Some days all my thoughts do
is spar off one another
and land with dull thuds
on the floor of my brain.
L. J. Priest
My model is the delectable Kaja B. Find her here https://www.facebook.com/kajabofficial/?pnref=story
I caught sight of my arm in the mirror today, and I saw it.
The advancement of age, the fleeting escapism of youth.
I was in our bathroom, getting dressed after my shower, and as I raised my right arm to allow for my deodorant application, I noticed that the muscle definition that I thought I still had, especially near the region of my elbow, had receded. Much like a hairline that you take for granted will always be there, until the day that you discover it is not.
I noticed my obnoxiously skinny arm and my now vulnerable elbow, which stuck out like a crucible perched on the edge of my sagging body. So this is what it’s like to be fifty-two.
The body that I once had, that so many young and old men alike had admired years ago is fading away, like a once stunning artistic painting that for too long has hung in the living room and battled the effects of sunlight against its graying canvas. For a long time, I didn’t feel anything like my age. I worked out, set goals, chased dreams, and raised children. As my childcare duties are becoming less demanding, and I now have the time to discover this world and pursue any leftover lofty goals, I find that they are not so demanding of my attention as I once thought that they were.
All of my scheming and best laid plans now lay on the ground before my feet, and leave me to wonder if I will even have the energy or time to fulfill them.
The image of your life is a reflection of your dreams.
Model – Amy Wilder
Find her at https://www.facebook.com/AmyWILDERness?__mref=message_bubble
I had no idea when I met you
that you would come to mean so much to me
I wake beside you and touch your face
I wonder how you can stand it –
My being so in love with you
My needing you this much
My utter emotional dependence on you
For my sanity
For everything that means anything in my life
Like a helpless angry child
I wriggle and fight against myself
face growing red
bunching up my whole being into one big fit
screaming my head off in a state of
total toddler frenzy
All the while you stand over me and watch
like a parent who is concerned
yet not quite sure how to meet my needs
or what it is that I could possibly want
I don’t know either
Some days I stare out at the horizon
looking for answers to the questions
that plague my mind
trying to find a release
for the words that run through me
as a river that is swept away in its own
torrent of misery
an overflowing rage
of Mother Nature
in an attempt to stream away from myself
and somehow find you in a distant land
still standing over me with your concentrated look
that hints of bewilderment and devotion
When you gaze at me in that way
I can’t help but ponder
Are you wondering what it is that I am thinking
Or are you wondering
why you ever decided to love me
in the first place