The ache is long and deep.
A gift from the ancients.
Rattle the gourd.
Light a candle.
Go inside.
Photograph of your Mother by the edge of the pool. 1955. Her notation on the reverse. You always loved the way she wrote her capital B’s. You run your finger along the scalloped edge of the photo, in awe of her.
You’ve never seen such blue water. And such a perfectly fitting white bathing suit. Never seen her this pretty and happy in the same place at the same time in real time.
Curse of the ancients.
The person in the picture is fictional.
Even though she stands right in front of you.
Find parts of her in the mirror. Patchwork of color, pattern, texture and fabric.
Deep set eyes.
Tiny perfect ankles.
Bitten down nails.
The story of your life put together from items thrifted and placed a particular distance from each other. Place her a particular distance from you. Fictionalize the parts she never shared. Make them more vivid than she ever did. Use the remnant leftovers from the past to color her story, creating your story.
The ache is long and deep. A gift from the ancients. Rattle the gourd. Thank them.
