Mask

Open the door. Walk slowly. Put on your mask. Hold their hand. A sorry. A lie for what happened 54 minutes ago beyond that white door.  Stop thinking . put on your mask. Hold their hand. Someone is waiting downstairs. Someone you hope will never know. Someone you know will never forgive. Someone . Someone. Same one.  Walk slowly. Put on your mask. hold their hand.  Stop .  Only you could hear the ringing in your ears. The walls have eyes. Pray they remain blind. Talk to them now. Let go of that hand. It stings. You hurt. Say the words . Cover them with sweet powdered lies. They need to hear it. You don't. Nevertheless. Speak. You're not in confession box. Hear their thanks. Say goodbye. Swallow your guilt.  Clear your throat, practice your smile. Rehearse your blame.

White Blank Squares (Happy Anniversary)

On a moonless night, filled with thunderclaps I find myself sitting with my dog and watching the houses outside our windows be lit by threads of lightning. It was oddly comforting to sit still a midst the play of shadows as the heavens rumble.  My mind is quiet for once  and my thoughts become like white blank squares, ready to be smeared with any  color of my own choosing

And so I think about my father with his sanguine eyes, his roughened hands  and his patient heart. I think about how his strength fades by the day as grey hair covers his head in its entirety. He gave me the happiest of childhood. He will give me the saddest days of my womanhood.

I think about my mother with her acid tongue that burns me every now and then and her brow high enough to build a wall between us. Thinking about my mother is not always pleasant but truthfully quite easy to put into words,perhaps because she is a constant presence much like her care. Some days, it is almost a balm to my scars. Almost.

I think about myself as selfishly for as long as  the tempest outside would let me. I think of how I find beauty in my thoughts at each second my fingers connect with the keyboard, how I believe otherwise  the moment my head hits the pillow.  I think about how I am a bedrock for no one except maybe for this four-legged creature who faithfully watches the lightning with me. I think about my sewed-in mouth and my sometimes eloquent hands. I think about my labyrinth of a mind, how I get lost so easily. I think about loneliness too. It is inevitable when it is not others' understanding that is out of reach but your own.

But as the tempest tames, at each tick and tock,  I wonder what will it take to enclose into my palms whatever finite that I seek

Eight Slices of Life, Oven-fresh From a 24 Year Old Hearth.

Cotton Candy Cake.  Never trust his words. They're only good the minute he says them. They're cotton candy basically, sweet  fluffy, clouds on  a stick. It  makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside until the moment it dissipates in your mouth and you're left with nothing but a stained tongue and a ruined appetite for dinner. Note to self, it's fruits you should be going for, healthy and easily available.

Amish Friendship Bread.  Bread will always be a source of comfort just as much as the thought that within your plane of existence, there are fellow bread lovers too. Accept the fact that you will never be known as the spontaneous one, the enter-a-room-with-one-friend,-exit-with-ten type. You are however are a firm believer of cycles and processes.  After all , friendship doesn't always mean sprinkling powdered sugar together, sometimes it's the fermentation and the thawing that leave the deepest mark.

Chocolate roll.  The end parts are the most decadent. They're also the least likely you'll eat. Because  someone took the liberty of wearing a white coat along with the privilege of  getting the first slice and getting away with  leaving the plate, chocolate icing and all,  for you , in all your brooding glory, to wash.  So go buy yourself and your father each of your favorite slices and indulge. Apparently selflessness is not genetic.

 Raisin bread. Put your foot down and mean it. "No ma, I don't like raisins. Never have. Never will.  They're desiccated and weird and they taste like everything I don't ever want to put in my mouth. Why can't you understand that?!

Chocolate chip pancakes. You'll always be a comfort, just like all those cookies you sneak into my dreary breakfast. Still sweet and homely, but' you're getting softer now,fragile.  and it scares me everyday.

Garlic Bread. Garlic makes every sensory experience complete. Funny how a tiny clove can define a dish and command your senses' attention. Note to self, work on being a garlic.
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Pepperoni pizza . So good it basically makes you dumb.  There is nothing to digest,nothing to think about  but gooey cheese and meat. A brainless food perfect on days your brain is working overdrive. It's a perfect reminder that it's  fine to just munch and be fascinated with the tendrils of mozzarella hanging between your teeth and that edible geometry

Cream puff.  Blessed be the days when it is perfectly clear  what it is that you want.