Earthbound Motherless

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When I imagine her she’s always sitting at a kitchen table I don’t recognize. Her dress is white and shapeless, nothing that would make it memorable. Her wings are casually tucked behind her, resting on the back of a standard issue wooden kitchen chair. She has her left leg tucked up underneath her and her right leg crossed over that knee. She is barefoot and I can see the skin of her legs.   I imagine her smoking a cigarette, because my earthly mind believes that our heavenly souls certainly must be much more capable of handling the joy that comes with addiction than these fragile human shells we carry them around in. This cigarette is just giving her the pleasure that kept her human self from being able to stop and not hurting her in any way.
There are other angel mothers there. They come to sit with her at her table. They are all dressed similarly, comfortable with their wings. They drink coffee or sip wine and laugh and gossip about us with our ridiculous worries and our ridiculous expectations of ourselves and of others. Stuck in our human shells, wingless souls at the mercy of our addictions and everything else on this earth. Occasionally their visit is interrupted, one of them will stop laughing for a moment to hear a softly spoken whisper from earth reaching across the universe.  If only you were here Mom I would know. If only I could talk to you, I would know that it might be ok …. If only you were here. If only you had never left. If. Only. You had never left. I would be ok.
The others take a break from their chattering for a moment to give the listener a chance to hear.  They fold their wings in closer to their own hearts to feel their perfect angelness and to give thanks for the peace they have at the table. They wish there was more time to share. But the earthbound Motherless never stop sending their whispers.   would know that it might be ok …. If only you were here. If only you had never left. If. Only. You had never left. I would be ok.
The others take a break from their chattering for a moment to give the listener a chance to hear.  They fold their wings in closer to their own hearts to feel their perfect angelness and to give thanks for the peace they have at the table. They wish there was more time to share. But the earthbound Motherless never stop sending their whispers.
Happy Mother’s Day.
Katerina Cavanagh

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