Mother

My mother’s earthy hues mix with the cool blue shades of summer’s twilight.  She is barefoot, and her large soles are blackened by the pavement.   She, my brother and I are alone this summer and she walks with ease, the warm air flattering her sides.  Looking down at the kitchen counter, my mother’s pressed lips forever turn up in a slight smile.   She hums to the music, always a bit flat, never quite on the beat, rocking back and forth from the counter to the cabinets her feet brushing against the floor.   As I approach her, she breaks the most magnificent smile and I continue to bumble around the kitchen, quoting her facts and random ideas.  My brother and I had been out playing in the neighborhood all day, and our fair skin is now crisp.  We wait for our cold pasta salad, and then pile onto the couch so we can watch our latest rental that we got from the corner store.  My mother has a knack for picking out the worst movies ever, and we have a good time making fun of them.  We stay up and laugh and the days melt into one.

5/2010