Posted by: alegra22 | May 17, 2012

weaving

My children open their arms and my hours go diving in. This love is a gamble of amnesia; what moments will they remember? What moments slip through my fingers as ashes, as light that has flared and gone?

My memories of the past are a favorite garment worn threadbare; if it were placed over my face I would be able to breathe.  The past is strong in the places where I need warmth. Thin where I need oxygen and light. Flexible where I want movement.

Every day, I wonder what garment I’m weaving with my children.

Every day, I’m left only with the fibers in my hand, the material I’ve been given to work with; the small fingers curling against my palm, the scent of skin and hair, the weight of their skulls against my chest…

…the connection of their silent beginnings in my body.

Their silence transforming into a language of movement inside of me.

And now, here they are. They come to me when sick, tired, happy, and sad. I am beginning to trust in this blood memory we share. This home of heartbeat and shelter that has been theirs from the beginning.

I want to believe that right now, while they are small, it is enough for them to curl up against my body to remember the perfect love that is their birthright.

I have to trust these fibers are stronger than anything I can imagine.

They will cradle us.

Weave us together, year after year.

I have to believe in the strength of each moment, even the ones that burst into flame, leaving only ashes in the air.

I have to believe these moments turned into hours turned into days turned into years…they are all recorded in the blood that moves through my family.

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Responses

  1. I like how you say, “I wonder what things they will remember”

    It’s so hard to tell, what will be important to who and remain vivid despite the time lapse and what memories disapeer like ash like you say. I would have liked to have been in green team though being in red team was an honor… Black team would have been 

    • Yes, exactly…and lately, I’ve been finding a freedom in accepting this. I can’t control how others experience me, I can only control how I experience the moments I encounter.

  2. Whoa. Beautiful…

  3. You always put eloquent language to the latent thoughts fumbling around in my brain. Thank you for sharing this. It is stunning.

  4. You have a gift for netting motherhood into words and pinning it to the page. I know I will come back to read this again — this spoke to my soul.


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