PIcasso
One shirt.
Tan.
Size Large.
His.
Left behind.
From the visit.
Gone.
Returned to the place
He calls home
For now.
I fold it
On the kitchen counter
And am taken back
To the wonder
of
The First Folding.
The clothes for Him,
The one
Swimming
In my body,
While I fold
And wonder
His precious life
To be.
Still the folding
And the wondering
Twenty Years
Grateful for the wonder
Lovely Anne. My younger son is 28 years old today. A lot of wonderment felt today!
Cherry Woodburn´s last post ..Day 9 – Coming of Age at 62 – Bashing Another Should
Cherry – Happy Birthday to both of you and thank you for sharing your wonderment.
Beautiful Anne!
Lovely, Anne. Reminds me that while independence blossoms, connectedness remains, always.
Gwyn Teatro´s last post ..Leadership ~ Creating Stability in the Midst of Uncertainty
Gwyn and Dorothy – Thank you. It was a beautiful moment in which I learned it is what we bring to the moment and not the task itself that makes the difference.
The first folding…
I was not sure what you meant until I had a lovely vision and sensation of the first fabric ever created for a human baby…
It gives a whole new perspective on ironing…, that you know is my secret meditation and healing ceremony, every Sunday afternoon. Gently and softly erasing the wrinkles on our family’s fabric…
Merci Anne.
marion chapsal´s last post ..Happy New Year 2012: Ask for the Moon!
Thank you dear Marion for ironing things out here. Reading your comment reminded me of a post you wrote that featured a man ironing while topless, which kicked off a series of comments and conversations about French culture. And with that I say Merci for your friendship and collegiality.
This just in from my dear sweet husband:
“This is really good. I think the shirt was mine, ( just put it away) but of course that doesn’t matter for the poem. It made me think of his body folded into yours during pregnancy.”
My insightful friend Marion thinks he might like it if i wrote a poem for him. I think she is spot on, and I am very lucky to have family and friends like this.
So simple…so beautiful…so moving!
Thank you so friend.
Very sweet, Anne. I never knew I could love so much until I had children. Now my boys are grown and gone, but when they come to visit, they leave droppings behind, like breadcrumbs in the forest. Last time it was a baseball cap and several socks. As I pick the droppings, I take in the sweetness and they always show me the way back to my open heart. To the folding and the gratitude. Thank you for connection and inspiration.
Thank you Jesse. I love what you wrote. You have transformed crumbs dropped on the floor, a source of frustration during visits, to sweetness. I will think of you the next time.
So beautiful, Anne. Not to be traded for the world. One grateful mother. One blessed child.
Thank you Deb. I feel both grateful and blessed.