She welcomed me at a chilly doorstep.
I was weary and luminous with enervation.
Leaving home for her suggested a joke.
Her breathes were cold over my shoulder when she said
“This could be Home, you know”
I nodded slowly, and in a second
The wind pulled me to a sickly bed.
Every morning greeted me with heavy lungs, shortened breathes.
Pain- stricken, I wrote to her “MA, I am learning to breathe”
She laughed.
And wrote me a song with frozen lyrics.
I chewed on them with courage, defiance and then, regret.
“Give me a Dictionary” my frail attempt to talk
“For what?”
“To find a synonym for Home”
She brought a map instead, and I spat at it acidly.
I sank into my cold bed to mourn.
Till she let visitors in
To fan the warmth in me.
I fell into their darkly beauty and resonating accent.
Picked funny verses from their songs and moved my legs to learn their steps.
She was kinder now “Can I make these stories an Art on your skin?”
“No” and I turned over.
Her name is Jos.
And this story continues…
Wow!
This is classic.
Come to talk of it did you just decline her offer to make the story an Art on your Skin?
Looking forward to the next edition.
Of course I declined the offer, on my skin keh? 😂
Well, this story continues!
Wow! My first time here, and it was worth the visit. ☺
Thanks Debby for this beautiful piece. It’s like coffee for my day.
Aww, I hope you remain a regular visitor, Papa 💞
And I’m glad this formed part of your day!
Wow! I didn’t see that coming. This is a beautiful piece, a smart pull. Nice one Debby
Thank you Beverly for reading 💞
It means a lot!
Really interesting piece.
Thank you, Moh💞
.., weary and luminous with enervation, such juxtaposition. I bet she taught you some nice lessons. Jos.
Let the lines keep flowing.
Thank you, Dave 💞
And yes, the lessons keep coming…
Beautiful
💞💞