Today is my mom's birthday and I can only borrow the words of another to express the ineffable depths of feelings for her. If I were with her, I would take her small hands into mine. She'll tell me that her hands look too old now and I'll smile and deny the truth as I smooth over wrinkled skin with my short caresses. And if she could stop asking what I am praying for of late or why I'm not sleeping enough, I would recite this poem to her in the silence:
i love you much(most beautiful darling)
more than anyone on the earth and i
like you better than everything in the sky
-sunlight and singing welcome your coming
although winter may be everywhere
with such a silence and such a darkness
noone can quite begin to guess
(except my life)the true time of year-
and if what calls itself a world should have
the luck to hear such singing(or glimpse such
sunlight as will leap higher than high
through gayer than gayest someone's heart at your each
nearness)everyone certainly would(my
most beautiful darling)believe in nothing but love - e.e. cummings
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
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