Writing3

Mind Reader

If I read your mind will you slam the door, or open it?
Or just stop by on a rare occasion to check my pronunciations
Of the thoughts and words you give out
From your innermost secret being?

How can I begin to make you understand and know?
The thoughts and dreams you have,
Are already translated into my mother tongue dialect,
Then pounded into malleable words to be swallowed whole,
Without a taint of metal hardness or acrid chemical bite.
Your thoughts are my thoughts, held by a gossamer thread
Binding, strong they are without wariness or fear.
These pure-tone thoughts are not watered down or adulterated.
But simply softened into another form.
To be given out in a gentler dose--not to purge,
But to change, and smooth, and steady.
To give you peace.

Those days still call out to me.
Days of sliding down spirals of crystal frost,
Punching holes in tissue-paper, blue skies
With pointed stars of gold and silver foil.
Days of ragged, crooked butterflies
Sporting dots of construction paper confetti,
Torn and tossed in profusion never seen by nature.

Days filled with mittens and kittens and chalkdust sneezes,
Squeaky shoes and warm, soft mufflers, whisper in confusion.
Castles growing from secluded mountain tops
Roll fog then wisp curls around tall, thin turrets.
Girls with long, golden hair are rescued from dragons,
Then whisked away to palaces full of happy thoughts and endings.
Those days still wait to be unraveled,
They gently call me back to the beginning.

When I was young and my grandmother said,
"My bones hurt and ache."
I would laugh behind my chubby hand and hide a smile-
Now I know what she meant.

When I was a student and my teacher said,
"You'll need this some day."
I would smile and agree with a casual nod,
Now I know what was meant.

In my teen years when my mother said,
"You can't do this or that," and, "You'll thank me some day."
I slammed the door to my room to pout,
Now I realize what she meant.

When my Dad said, "You should know how to change a tire."
I carefully watched, and let him proceed,
I held the door or the key.
Now I want to know how to do some things.

When my children were babies,
I'd hold them close, then set them down,
Watching and wanting to show them things,
To try to keep them safe from harm.

One day the truth came bursting through,
I had been learning it all my days,
Every child must have wings to fly,
And roots to keep them grounded.

Where the river runs clear--crystal and deep,
We'll meet again.
Where the sun shines--gentle and warm,
We'll cross paths again.
Where the trees grow old--tall and true,
We'll be face to face again.
I can see your smile--open and free.
We'll touch hands once more,
And we will know the truth.

Through the ages, time discounted--
Generations, past and future,
Discarded and meshed lives,
We'll meet by chance and touch hands as strangers,
And know we have met before.
From now until time is no more--
We will always know each other,
My child.

Your love fits my heart like a well-worn glove,
Shaping and caressing each part of my heart and soul.
Your love surrounds and protects my inner being.
Worn smooth from use, but strong and comforting.
Special ordered, just for me, it fits my heart's measurements perfectly.