6/2/14: Summer 2011

I made a list in August,
sat down at my desk and
thought. And
it was there that the season stretched
out before me like a
mural—
illustrations denoting the bad,
the worse,
the shining bits of
light.

The dishwasher
broke
before the temperature rose.
We rolled up our sleeves,
filled the sink with soap
and water and
scrubbed every night
after dinner.
Within me grew a great appreciation for
first world commodities,
but
there was something simple in
washing each dish by hand,
side by side with
my mother.

That same summer
my best friend went west for a boy, for
love.
In her absence, I wallowed nights away in my room
and listened to a lot of music
and worried about starting college in
only a matter of months, no
weeks.

It was during those summer weeks when
my parents found my stash,
took it all away. And I finally
told them the truth.
We cried together in the dark
and watered the seeds of
change.

August came and so I had to
pack up my life and start anew.
As the mural sat before me, I
marveled at the colors,
the criss-crossed lines and
all the different masks I wore.
Yet,
what stood out most was—
washing dishes with my mother and
letting her hold me as I wept.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s