Keep Moving

Did you see me wave
as we passed each other
traversing the space
between love
and understanding?

Did you see me eye
the magic of your glass
appearing always
half full through
sheer force of will?

Do you remember
a poorly sewn skirt
yielding the advice –
if your hem’s uneven
keep moving?

Fashion aphorism.
Life too.

I stole some
of your records.
I still have them.
Diana Ross, Cleo Laine,
Herb Alpert,
Vicki Carr, B.B. King . . .

Your passion
seeded my own,
opening the door
to the happiest part
of my existence.

Did you see how lost
I was when music
exited stage left
ending its long run
in the role
Maintainer of My Sanity?

You said move some place
interesting, that I’d like
to visit. Thank you
for leading the way.

Your wanderlust created
my own. I complied as best
I could for some time,
until . . .
well, you know.

Champagne.
Cinnamon rolls
from the Savoy.
Me excited.
You on crutches
and crying.
Goodbye.

Care packages.
Rolling Stone.
Order of the Rosy Cross.
No phone.
No pool.
One pet.

Always game, you arrive
ready for anything.
Bush taxis, latrines,
no latrine, bucket baths,
roasted goat, piment,
my boyfriend who wrung
the neck of the chicken
given to me by a friend
in honor of your arrival,
drinking and dancing
with my colleagues, being
questioned by gendarmes,
mbongo chobi.

You soak in the color,
the cacophony,
the calls to prayer.
Comfortable in your
new batik dress
and your own skin.
Game.
Anything.
Everything.
Always.

Do you remember
saying, “If we’re
wearing swimsuits,
I’m not going.”
Everyone bared all,
even the two who started
at “nope” to the nude.
Ten Thousand Waves.
Open skies.
Open hearts.
Open robes.

Creative, smart, adventurous daughter.
Sullen, angry, depressed daughter.
You loved unwaveringly.

Beautiful, gracious, giving mother.
How many sunsets, sunrises,
sunsets, sunrises
did it take
for me to realize
you have always been
the woman
I want to be?

Keep moving.
The next adventure awaits.

c Cynthia Lea Cain April 27, 2018
for my mother on her 80^th birthday