Velociworld

Mother's Day

I really had nothing to say, that I wouldn't later find glib, or maudlin, but I was going through my mother's writings today. I've had them over two years, I think, since my sister forwarded them, but I just couldn't screw up the proper frame of mind to read through more than a handful. It's mostly prose, with some comic strips she'd written about her beloved chihuahua, a breed I normally do not care for, but this was a sheltie trapped in a teacup frame, a frustrated cow herder.

I found this bit:

The Hours Rise Up

The hours rise up, dismissing
the stars, and bringing dawn.
The city awakens, with
a babble of noise, after the quiet
somber dark of night.
The world of the day is a world
of realities with little heed
for the idealist.

In the streets I see strong men,
engaged in manual labor for
just a daily living. And yet,
their faces seem brutal to me.
They are contented, hideous
hopeless, cruel, and happy.
They are living. They are at home
in the world of reality.

In the mirror I see myself
as only a dreamer.
I cannot find a real world,
for I can only dream.
Now it is night. Lights begin
to flicker on as people
return to their homes,
having done a day's work.

I am in my bed, having
done a day of dreaming.
The night carries over
the sounds of day:
for a while.
Finally, full night comes
full of beauty,
and only remembered sounds.

I like this. I know exactly what she meant, I think.