My Mother’s Heart. Every Mother’s Heart.

It is a muscle that flexes,

always.

 

I break open her chest

with the sign of the cross

 

and knead gently between

the tightened beats.

 

It is toned

but rarely down.

 

When it is pulled and

ridden like a Charlie horse,

 

I pray for the hands of a masseuse

and elbows of grease.

 

I search for the pressure points

and work on the knots,

 

my praying hands

the only conversation between us.

 

My fingers rub in warm oil

on the sticky hinge

 

and her valve swings

freely open.

 

My mother’s heart rarely

skips a beat,

 

but at times carries a murmur,

a fluttering through each chamber.

 

My mother’s heart enlarges

and at times adopts an arrhythmia.

 

I pray for a peace-maker

to be sewn in to set a new pace.

 

I pray for the steadiest of hands

and the guidance of the Great Physician.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My mother is now with the Great Physician. Although I gave her Charlie horses at times, God was gracious to give me moments of massage with her before she died. I am so grateful for my mother’s heart which represents the hearts of all mothers.

Back Seat Love: Come on, it’s not what you think.

I know,

is the back seat really a place for love?

In one respect, I think not…

But hold on a minute,

I’m talking about love.

 

I dreamt I was a taxi driver,

in and out of traffic and jams.

My light was on, waiting for a whistle or a hand.

She got in and sat in the middle back.

The rear view cropped her face.

Her brown eyes caught mine in the mirror.

 

“Just drive a bit,” she said calmly.

I nodded and pulled back out into it.

She smiled her eyes and

I think I smiled mine back.

 

“So, any destination in mind?”

“Life.”

“Ah, sure, is that near West 42nd Street?”

“You never know.”

“Well, I will never know if you don’t tell me.”

 

She winked and fully opened her eyes,

briefly exposing the whites like teeth.

Somewhere, I heard the eyes are the window to the soul.

What a beautiful window.

I thought I saw her soul…even more beautiful.

She leaned forward with her chin

nestled in her forearms.

 

“Don’t worry,” she said, “I am not in a hurry.”

“I’m starting to get that.  What about the meter?”

“Keep it running, where I want to go is priceless.”

 

I took one hand off the wheel and relaxed a little.

“A taxi driver not knowing where he is going…”

“…is a nice diversion,” she whispered.

“Wait a minute, you just hinted at a destination.”

“I suppose I did, but you are the driver.  Without you,

I am not going anywhere,” she sang with a smirk.

“What kind of Jell-o logic is that?”

“Oh, let’s not get strapped too tightly into logic.”

 

I took a cleansing breath.  “Jell-o,” I said flatly.

 

She sat back in the seat and stared in the mirror.

“What?” I said.

She brushed the band of brown hair from her eyes

and tucked it behind one ear.

She said softly, “Look into my eyes.

I know you saw it the first time.

That’s right. It’s the beauty beyond the eyes.”

I did see it.

I pulled over and the tears in my eyes magnified

the beauty I saw in hers.

I felt something jump into me.

“That’s where I was hoping to go,” She said as she

handed me the fare and walked away.

 

God is love and is closer than you think.

“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you;

I will take the heart of stone out of your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.”  Ezekiel 36:26

Pull over, out of the traffic for a moment and look into the eyes of the lover of your soul; Jesus.

Enlarged Heart

It is a muscle that flexes,

always.

 

It is toned

but rarely down.

 

When it is pulled and

ridden like a Charlie horse,

 

I pray for the hands of a masseuse

and elbows of grease.

 

I break open her chest

with the sign of the cross

 

and knead gently between

the calcified beats.

 

I search for the pressure points

and work on the knots,

 

my praying hands,

the only conversation between us.

 

Every fiber is stretched

and the blood that flows

 

through the squeaky ventricles

is the same that restores them.

 

A mother’s heart rarely

skips a beat,

 

but at times carries a murmur,

a fluttering through each chamber.

 

A mother’s heart enlarges

and at times adopts an arrhythmia.

 

I pray for a peace-maker

to be sewn in to set a new pace.

 

I pray for the steadiest of hands

and the guidance of the Great Physician.

She Knits

I sit with her while she knits.

She casts on and off those things

to bring a piece together.

Needles of grace and mercy

pearl of great price.

 

May her curled hands

wield through the emptiness

to draw comfort together.

 

May her unraveled heart

find a covering once again.

Hope, like wool, natural beads.

 

I will sit with the clicking, ticking,

like a beating of brokenness

and sleep lightly in love.

 

Come, Great Shepherd

and offer her the shearing’s

of a precious lamb.

 

Remind her of when you

carried her when she felt lost.

The very threads that hung on her

became a scarf around your neck

until she was brought home.

 

Yes, I will sit with her while she knits.

Redemption will fit perfectly

as she brings a peace together.

 

For Barbara

 

© Gerald Allen Barrett and parentheticallyspeakingin3d, 2012.

 

 

 

 

I Didn’t Ask

I didn’t ask to be born.

Love crashed together.

Love pushed me out.

 

I don’t will my lung’s inflections.

I don’t whip my ventricles

yelling “stroke, stroke, stroke.”

 

I won’t ask to die either.

Love separates my self.

Love pushed me to you.

 

Each breath it’s evidence

as chambers syncopate

murmuring “you, you, you.”