Jessica's Jottings:

On faith, food, family and frugality

“Mama? Mama, tell me a story.”

on December 10, 2014

“Mama? Mama, tell me a story.”

Oh, child of mine.
My story well has run dry
I’m plumb out of imagination.

There are clothes to wash
And dishes to do
And the constant, constant draining needs
Don’t allow for rumination.

My brain is tired.
My heart beats slow.
With promises to keep
And miles to go

Before I sleep,
Before I sleep.
The words of others
Must suffice for stories for you,
my little love.

You ask for memories of my youth.
I can’t remember half the time
(and that’s the truth)
unless something specific throws up a flare
And highlights a memory hiding there
in the recesses of my cranial space.

Then, words pour forth
Like water from the rock
And you soak up your heritage
Like a sponge…

Oh, little one, little one,
Eldest fruit, carried full length minus two weeks
The story of your passage to this world
Draws you in again and again.

So hungry for your history.

Oh, God, Most High, help me love her well.

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