Her hands, he knew the best of all– were fevered warmest when days were cold. She’d
wrap a shawl around them and hold him close; her heat transpose. She cleaned his face with just such hands, ironed his clothes, and tucked him in bed.
And when the ladies’-maids came knocking, her hands expanded as she took in more
washing. And when he ruined his clothes out playing, her hands found thread to mend
the rips and strength enough to shoo off monsters.
Her hopes for him kept piling high as long as the wash kept piling in. For never was she
the liveliest as when she imagined her young man well-read and polished.
Then one glum day, when the rivers bubbled over from days upon days of rain,
returned from college, gentle and polished, he found those hands lain idle — engorged
like the rivers, arthritic, overworked with scant life force to right them.
“Manman,” said he, “you’ve worked plenty, let me take care of you from this day
forward.”
With eyelids puffed like little curtains, she turned to him and drew him in.
“My job is done, my heart brims over–”
But as he decorated her wrists with the gold bracelets, she half spurned to let God
know what she thought of Him.
***
© 2022 selmamartin.com
And last but not least, our optional prompt! I got this one from a workshop I did last year with Beatrix Gates, and I’ve found it really helpful. The prompt is based on Robert Hass’s remarkable prose poem, “A Story About the Body.” The idea is to write your own prose poem that, whatever title you choose to give it, is a story about the body. The poem should contain an encounter between two people, some spoken language, and at least one crisp visual image.
Images: NaPo Banner/buttons, Maureen Thorson
Bracelets Image by Queena Deng from Pixabay
Thanks for reading everyone. I appreciate you. xoxo
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Spoken with lots of love, and Japanese in spirit, I find. Shoo, monsters, shoo!
Yeah, that’s where the poem took me today. Thanks for the visit, my sweet. xoxo
Your top photo in the water was tremendously beautiful. Always mesmerized with your world. Xoxo. Stay sweet. xo
Ahh, thank you! <3
Loved this, and my favorite line: “My job is done, my heart brims over–”
So pleased to know my sweetest friend. Thanks for reading. Sending you hugs and blessings. xoxo
I like this, Selma. Sounds like “too little too late but I’ll take it anyway.” I’m trying the body/prose poem for Tuesday which just showed up.
Thanks for peeking in on me earlier.
NaPoWriMo’s Jim1Jim1
..
You know, Jim. You got it right. It’s a little too late indeed. That is the point. The gold bracelets are analogous to the gold therapy to lighten the discomfort. Thanks for looking at this with such knowing eye. I appreciate you. And it was nice reading yours as well. Be well. xo
I loved your take, so lovely and emotional.
Thanks for saying. Be well.
This is gorgeous, it really speaks to me
A fitting end for a devoted mother, Selma!
I appreciate you for the visit. Xoxo 👼 🌎 😴
Oo, I love this piece of lyrical and alive prose! The imagery is beautiful and the ending perfection. <3
Hey, Jaya. Your encouragement is priceless. Thanks so much for visiting me here. So grateful. xoxo
great one Selma and the gifts at the end so lovely!💖
💃🏼 xoxo 💕