“And I fell heavy into your arms…”
We watched our team scrape by those hillbillies. We wear me out, scratch and scar my allegiance, every time. We didn’t move to eat. My posture was easing with the hour. I reclined upon her bed, eating what we used to: m&m’s by the big bag.
My stories all pulled free, there was nothing left to speak of save what mattered most: the “I can’t’s” and “I won’t’s.” In the quiet she offered me, the spillway ran free. Her hand upon my arm, my heart could hear the prayers she prayed for the dam to give way. And surely, at her silent words, the earthen/stoney wall started to shake. She purposefully, plainly, pulled me over to her, lifted me unto her, the way she might have her now 16-year-old son, who favors me. I almost protested…but stopped myself. The words met my heart before my ear, “I can hold you, all of you. I’ve always been able …I will always be able.”
Truth is, she bore me, same as that 6’2″ fella who will sling his own stones. She has held our fragile souls along our rough and sometimes stoney paths. She has rocked us each, smoothed our often crumpled brows and soothed us with her songs. She has been God to me: His hands upon me, His arms around me, His breast upon which I bellow what I cannot yet bring to words.
I relented, from my each and every effort, fell full against her.