MOTHER’S TOUCH
Daybreak and the ground fog clings to the fields.
Beyond the cracked window of the trailer
I see the rusted out shell
Of grandfather’s old pickup truck.
The grasshoppers are already doing their dance
Waiting for the big ball of fire to light up the sky.
Gray and purple clouds linger on the horizon
Beyond the cornfield;
The crows are up early.
My bare feet touch the carpet of grass
Still wet from the morning dew.
My steps are unsteady,
My vision is blurred;
The stench of the night is still on my clothes and skin.
The dirt path is damp,
And the warm guts of a worm squirt between my toes
As I step on a hard patch of dirt.
The pungent smell of the earth is strong;
It lays heavy in the early morning air,
Still moist from the midnight storm.
I puke in the tall grass beside the path,
The odor of stale whiskey fills my nostrils.
I stumble forward until I see the pond in the distance.
A shaft of sunlight sparkles
Like a diamond bracelet
On a black velvet cloth.
A breeze rustles the reeds at the edge of the pond,
A green snake slithers through the grass.
A pure white crane arises from the dark water,
She sails majestically over the tree line
Into the pale blue sky.
The rising sun is blinding to my eyes,
The world is a blurry haze.
Smoky streams of steam gently rise from the pond.
My belly is on fire.
The water is refreshing to my feet;
It splashes against my ankles.
Turtles scamper from their log
And dive into the depths of their sanctuary.
I dive into the depths but there is no sanctuary.
My head hurts.
I float face down in the water.
I remember a little boy
Who used to run happy and free
Down the same path, to the same pond,
Anxious to catch the fish
That mother would fry for supper.
But it’s not the same path,
And it’s not the same pond,
And there are no fish.
And there is no mother anymore.
And there is no little boy anymore.
And I want to find him so bad.
And I miss him so much
And his mother’s touch.