April fifteenth marked the nineteenth year. Salmon smothered sandwiches and acorn squash ravioli with mother at lunchtime. Sky colored scarves blindfolded heavy black eyes as Haeleigh drove my nervous body to an unknown destination, scraping curbs and raking loose gravel. Clear glasses and sparking water met me there, accompanying warm faces. Spider venom made my arms decay, but I laughed with my lungs. Violet lips left murky marks on thin glass, curved like a crescent moon. James and Ian strummed their wooden instruments, and we sang. I envisioned a campfire there, in the middle of the wooden floors, filling the darling home with thick smoke. Quill pens, parchment paper, heavy books, invisible ink.Three new ceramic teapots to line in the kitchen niche. My grandmother wrapped the most amazing novel. Whittier's Poems: 1849; a decaying green hard cover. The smallest print on flaking pages. The most amazing feeling when I held those yellow leaflets. My mother, my beautiful mother recreated my fifth birthday party. I held red stone bowls while we ate dinner on the green, green grass. Spring grass. Warm breath blew down the back of my neck, sun filled swooping curves. I swung at a ladybug on the rope swing, filled with chocolate pleasantries and candy necklaces. I blew candles from chocolate mocha cake. I smiled, I smiled until my jaw ached. The nineteenth year, I do believe, will be brilliant.
Happy Birthday, my young friend. It is so wonderful that you family treated you to such a celebration. You deserve to have all the crystal, sweet memories of being loved.
ReplyDeleteWhat a delightful way to mark this passage of time in your remarkable life.
You know how bruised and broken I am right now and your words lifted me up from the ocean of despair. Your lifesaver of words rescued me and gave me hope.
Thank you so much for sharing your light, Madi.
Warmly, Ferret
I thought you were saying that I colored the scarves. Well. I did.
ReplyDelete-Sky
Sky, you are the greatest. Metaphorically challenged and all.
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