POETRY | MOTHERHOOD
Yearning
As a mother and as a child
Me, the mother
The cherub's cheeks lift, the eyes lit up to firefly lanterns, wonder etched into the irises.
Plucks a tiny pink flower, just one, from the garden cactus.
Rolls it between the teeny pink fingers, forgets about it somewhere along the way.
Years later, she picks a wound, calls it her own, nurtures it, like I did, day and night.
Moistens it with her tears of naivety, presses it into her pillow, hides it behind her smiles, lives it through her poems, fights the demons from anywhere near her baby.
Me, the child
You picked the thorns from the cactus she was, the forgotten tiny flowers just specks of love left behind for adornment.
Ever since, the thorns have pricked.
I yearn still, an off-handed caress of your cracked fingers, an absent look into the center of my world, an ear to the silent wails of solitude.
Every word, every play staged for a sparkle in the brown eyes we share, a touch of lips that said all was fine or would be someday.
I yearn for the nuances between silver years of dawns and dusks, as you doted on my survival.
For that alone, have I survived the race for survival.
© Sana Rose 2020
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Poet’s note:
Life comes with its own set of trials and tribulations for each of us. To me, it was my yearning for my mother’s presence and attention as she worked hard trying to make ends meet. I have always found myself seeking her appreciation until recently. I took my strength as a woman from my mother, my best quality being independent as a woman, mother and everything I have become. Once I became a mother, I stopped seeking her validation and found solace in my daughter.
Sana Rose is an award-nominated novelist, poet, physician, counseling professional, freelance writer and mom. She is based out of Kerala, India. Her debut women’s fiction novel ‘Sandcastles’ was shortlisted for ARL Literary Awards 2018 for Best Author soon after publication.