Loved and Safe
I used to snuggle on her knees and
rest my head on her ample chest, my hand patting the loose soft flesh under her
chin. I knew by heart all the lines on her face, from the deep grooves on her
forehead running parallel to her eyebrows to the laugh lines and the finer
wrinkles crossing her cheeks. Her eyes once black, bordered by still long and
thick lashes, are now lighter as if softened by age, their almond shape
unchanged. She had been a beauty. When us, her grandchildren watched her comb
her hair letting it flow from a tight bun down to her waist, we would catch a
glimpse of how she looked in her younger years. She laughed her easy cascading
laugh when I called her the green haired lady because of the highlights in her
white hair once jet-black.
Sometimes,
after her domestic tasks of cooking, sewing and taking care of us were over,
she would sit on a chair in the kitchen, her hands crossed on her lap. Her eyes
would look far away, beyond the open window, beyond the field crushed by the
afternoon heat, all the way into her past. She would look lost in her memories
of past glories or maybe past heartbreaks, looking like a humble queen with her
heavy gold earrings and long chain holding a medal of the Virgin Mary. I would
know to stay silent, happy to study her beloved face, knowing that as long as my Bonne-Maman lived I would be loved and safe.
Rafaele Désiré, author
Paradise Bound
Rafaele Désiré, author
Paradise Bound
Comments
Post a Comment