In the relative silence of another Lima urban night,
I sit at my desk with my notes,
attempting to verbalize culture and its significance.
But the winds are beginning to thicken in my skull;
there’s a tornado building in my brain.
My sight blurs and my heart tenses as it accelerates,
in efforts to supress the building sentiment.
Every cell, every mitochondrion in my existence, strains to contain
the encumbrance of my husband’s diagnosis.
I crave for numbness,
for hackneyed dumbness,
so as not to question
so as not to interrogate, the shredded bits of ambiguity
this moment has allowed me.
Tonight, Lord, may your Grace bring me Hope
The chatter and cries of my daughters have given way
to the occasional passing car.
The sound of clinking plates,
the busy babble of the tv,
and the roar of the dryer
have receded into darkness.
My emotions begin to leak
out of my head
drip by drip
like a melting ice cream cone
pooling in my chest
weighing my heart with
In attempt to save myself from drowning,
a prayer surfaces,
I am nothing without your Embrace
I am visionless and stranded,
fumbling through obscurity,
I ache for your Guidance.
Lord, teach me to forgive.
The evening begins with laughter.
Cheerful voices swirl around me
oxygenating my blood,
as I float from one required task to the next,
elevated by the sensation.
Then it happens.
A trigger clicks within my chest.
Elation takes a hairpin turn
I fall backwards into
the quarries of my mind,
into the mines of my qualms.
My breath is agitated
my vision spirals into
paralyzed in a cylinder
of my own dread.
In obscurity I grope
for my bearings
for a way back
into my being.
my prison walls begin to thaw,
tiny trickles slither silently
like an early morning
a cherished friend
soothing my tattered spirit,
offering me a steaming cup of tea
on a brittle winter day.
The trampoline pulsates
chubby baby legs
sitting then standing.
A little girl loses
a purple sock,
it flips like a fish
on a wooden dock.
A pink fish, blue fish,
yellow fish pair,
naked little feet
and disheveled hair.
Shrieking and giggling
a girl and boy,
how perfect a moment-
the taste of true joy!
Exhaustion seeps under the doors
Flooding the room
Saturating my body
One more word
One more thought
One final attempt
Before I surrender to my pooling thoughts
And sink into the depths
Of my subconscious
Five years ago today I began this turbulent and thrilling journey into motherhood.
I didn’t suspect that a small 2.8 kg package could wreak such havoc,
and cause such revolution in my trivial life.
I came to realize just how petty my life had been when with you came purpose and significance,
love and yearning,
a taste of divinity.
You have freed me from the burden of myself on this path of humility and sacrifice.
You have showed me the value of affection, devotion, and compassion.
You have taught me my worth.
Motherhood is not rational. It is not an emotion nor an instinct.
It transcends all of my previous experience and understanding about meaning and living.
Though my weary state blurs my perceptions, I am full and very much alive, more so than I thought I could be or would be.
Petty conundrums and quagmires have dissipated into biological production and preservation.
I have turned self into a minute detail, a light concept of what my life was before.
But at the same time, motherhood has connected me to a new world of mothers, a sisterhood of sacrifice and sleeplessness with a base of elation untouchable by most.
Motherly love is a peculiar addiction the way it spills into your life and pools in your thoughts.
An obsession that tires as much as it thrills.
a giggle, a tug at my shirt is enough to justify me and my living, leaving me little need or want,
sometimes a dangerous fulfillment that abandons me shortsighted with no need for glasses.
Balance is difficult to achieve when all you think you require is happily drooling in front of you.