In the dry riverbed we collect stones,
each a jewel or a small world
mother and daughter
ambling like cattle.
The wide riverbed is bank-to-bank beauty of red, white,
green stones, black and yellow, veined and ribbed
quartz and sandstone, basalt and granite,
all tumbled smooth by the long time of the world.
I find a few treasures and my daughter, who is five,
comes and stands under my stoop, pounces
on stones at my feet, her eyes scanning, scanning.
If I move sideways, she moves sideways. If I turn, she turns.
All this space and she stands right here,
shadowing my shadow, seeking treasure
at her mother’s feet, seeing through
her mother’s eyes, stealing her mother’s vision.
It’s what our children do. It’s what
we give the world — their greed
for life and it’s ok that they
look through our eyes for a while.
But Daughter, in that far off story of snow
and sadness, the little match-girl died.
She was fiddling with flames, dreaming of mother
when she could have been collecting wood.
Daughter, I am only a dreamt mother. I can’t save you.
I can’t give you the world, though I’d give
each stone in this riverbed, I’d give enough beauty
to sustain you in your ever-after life.
But in the end, I’m as impotent as the match-girl’s mother.
And you can steal from me, my eyes, my very breath,
but sooner or later, you will have to find
your own stones to whisper your secrets to.
Beautiful. Alone. Yet we have learnt to see and speak, from our fore-bearers.
thanks. I’m glad you like it. amazing how these old stories still have lessons to learn
Reality is a happening thing. It’s gone in what we hold, but can be alluded to in what is told. And we’re reminded of how far we are isolated, feels like eons or a dream away, from it.
My matches burn more brightly and far longer on the stones of your dry riverbed…..
well, Nicole, I’m really glad about that!
I feel only equal to a squeak of delight…
speechless in the shadow of such beauty. x
you sweet Margaret, how nice to see you!
Just beautiful!
I happy that you like it. thanks for commenting!
You’re welcome!
Lovely, Belinda. So nicely balanced between holding and letting go. Beautiful. Thanks.
thanks Robyn, glad you like it
Grand, another treasure. _m
Thank you so much Magyar.
Truly lovely and poignant.
Thanks Eliza 🙂
Fine words here, Belinda.
Thank you Carolyn