Where did you get all this, Momer? The clothes that fill ten grocery bags, the skeins of yarn that multiply when I look away, the scattered beads and thread and books and tiny tools for placing fake gems into fake-silver settings?
The Tic-Tacs that rattle in the corners and skitter away like frightened mice when I sweep the floor; I know where they came from. You loved that candy. Handfuls always in your shirt pockets. They’d fall out, little green dots bouncing everywhere and scaring the cats, and we’d laugh. I keep finding them now like breadcrumb memories. In the cup-holder in the car. Under the stove. Beneath the dresser in my room.
It’s a beautiful day outside. The sky is that particular shade of blue you only find in a Wyoming summer. Not a cloud anywhere. A light breeze through the open window.
I’m cleaning out your room. It’s only taken me over a year to even attempt it. I tried, again and again, like touching an ache to see if it’s healed yet. I think this is as healed as it’ll get.
The stuff here grows when I’m not watching. More yarn and beads and crochet hooks and shoes and bits and pieces of things you loved. I clean and bag and shift and there’s always more. It’s never-ending. I’ll never be over it.
I find a handful of Tic-Tacs nestled in a few knitted squares of yarn, the last project you worked on, started back when you still felt good. They’re starting to lose their color.
The rest of the room will have to wait.
I can’t do any more today.
Lying on your bed I pop a candy in my mouth and look out at that perfect blue sky.
*This is a revised version of a flash piece I posted some time ago.
I like it.
I miss my mother. *