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Letters From The Fishbowl

The life, times, fiction, and mind-lint of V.B. Rising. Enter at your own risk, traveler, for here there be rants and misplaced modifiers.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Everything You Need To Know About My Mother

My mother's feet
like cinderblocks
to support her children's beds at schools far from home,
hard as rocks
tossed at cheating boyfriends,
carried her tiny frame
through it all.
From spring to snowfall,
no shoes,
no socks,
no softness in those feet,
sandpaper heels to smooth the way for pedicured daughters.
My mother's feet,
of which I am obscenely proud,
of which I begin conversations with politely-smiling friends
who cannot know by my rum-soaked telling of it
what they walked her through
and over.
Gravel prickers blacktop a thousand degrees in the high of July,
sawdust and woodchips
shells
hot coals
glass.
Over and over and across,
they carried her.
She carries us.

1 comment:

Cynthia Licciardi said...

I love it!! Talk amongst yourselfs, I'm all vclempt!!