Awaiting

Awaiting

I am becoming more of my father and of my mother. It's not something visible at the mirror nor is it a set of enumerable attributes.

Though, at times, like the wink of a sight or the stare of a light, it feels their presence could be in that very same light or wink.

As when I approach you, because I would like to continue myself in you, there is no believing or understanding about it; it simply is so and that's the meaning of knowing.

So I know, because I don't have to think or put on any feeling, that when you're here, near me, we are becoming one. It is a matter of time, an inner routed collision will be our next momentum.

© 2017, José Coelho

Letter to my mother

Letter to my mother



Mother,

I know you've been waiting
this letter, made no sense when
you left us, no words could ever undo

healing the gap that grew within
our house had you written
on walls, mirrors, blankets; even
tap water rustled your name

You know, that long night ended
as always, at dawn serenity flood the room
and after one last kiss, I laid on the floor
waiting it was time
to move further.

I'm blessed we
said everything to each other
during your last couple of months, whenever
you'd feel better I would listen to your
blood soothing each cell with peace
and love had us bounded

Our hearts had agreed
and accepted: we
were ready!

And so it seemed, but now
I realize I made you vanish into far
in order to survive
The Absence
clutching the mind – sharp, unpredictable,
irregularly insane.

After all these years, looking back
I regret not having let you
take a part of me as it should, but instead
craving for something new, a new
person was created.

Don't worry though, I'm
used and it's alright!

Mother, one last thing
I hope you and father are together
now and grandma, she was the last.

I promise to keep in touch.
Give them a kiss; for you
Love.

Your son.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho