A Mother Cries

As he’s pulled from his mother’s womb
and cat-like cries pierce through expectation,
doctors clean
his wrinkled, red form.
Daddy brings him close for a kiss.
A mother cries.
-----

A tiny body
quivers
With fever and pain.
A mother tries
     to comfort,
          to soothe.
Helpless,
a mother cries.
-----

In anguish
he sprawls on the cold tile,
unyielding sobs,
     little red face,
          contorted and wet.
“Don’t. Leave. Me. Mommy!”
Reassuringly,
She hugs him one more time.
On the way to work,
a mother cries.
-----

Home from school,
a bedroom door slams
     shutting out his pain.
His face flushes in anger.

Isolated.
They can’t bully him here.
Music is his only anesthetic.
He doesn’t hear her questions
from the other side of the door.
A mother cries.
-----

Laid off again.
The economy is down, they say.
The bills keep coming.
What will happen if he can’t pay?
The car - repossessed,
a foreclosure on their home.
They still have each other.
Life is much worse for some.
Far away,
a mother cries.
-----

Starting over at forty-nine,
twenty-two years of love behind.
Unbearable.
Inconceivable.
The color of their love
fades from red to black.
How will he go on?
Without her.
His teenage son's shattered heart
is motivation enough.
Somehow he will be strong.

Still her little boy,
a mother cries.
-----

Lines accent his eyes and forehead,
telling more than just his age.
Happiness found him again,
though, some would argue, too late.

His mother lies
on a narrow, rigid bed,
cold white sheets,
pale walls,
a mixture of disinfectant and urine
perfumes the shared halls.

His mother tries
not to let him see her pain.
She’s not afraid to die,
Just terrified to leave him too soon.
A mother cries.

She’s as fragile as a baby bird.
No trace of the rosy blush of youth.
They must say their goodbyes.
He holds her hand
as she says her last prayer
     for him.
One last time,
a mother cries.

©  9/14/2012

Fall Remembered

Dry, fallen leaves crunch beneath my feet

Burnt orange, crimson red, chestnut brown, and lemon yellow

hang from soon to be barren trees

White-gray clouds billow from chimneys

Gaseous, white puffs of breath escape with each exhale

Stillness.

The season silences the chirping birds and

Sends rabbits scurrying to their refuge under naked shrubbery

The cold, rough leather sphere stings as I catch my cousin’s pass

Barbecue beckons us indoors to Auntie’s kitchen

Sweet, smoky, savory chicken, ribs, and sausages

Steaming hot chocolate with melting mini-marshmallows

Warms chilled and numb hands.

Nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger and hazelnut season the traditional mud pie

Oak and maple logs burn in the weathered fireplace

Orange, red, brown, and yellow

On soon to be barren trees

Dry, fallen leaves crunch beneath my feet.

25 September 2011

Stephanie L. P. De los Santos

The Pearl in the Sand

Your eyes play hide-and-seek with mine

as you slip back into class

hoping no one notices,

praying you will be left alone.

You know I know.

I know you know.

Your heavy eyes hold mine

for an eternal moment.

until your gaze is sucked to the floor

by the force of your failure,

a gravitational pull

constraining your eyes,

        restricting your vision,

                confining your view

to below.

Below the laughter and the smiles,

beneath shared jokes and common experiences,

You hide

believing

you are truly beneath them.

Stripped of your self-worth,

You continue to meet their expectations.

You fail again

        and again

                  and again

until someone notices

the pearl in the sand.

SLPD   5/6/2016