MOMMA - 2008

    His momma was of a Victorian variety, or so it seemed.

    She stood upon the long legs of a delicate ballerina and moved like the fingers of a seasoned piano player, appearing to dance when she walked.

    It was as if her sole purpose of life was to make another’s heart spring.

    Her eyes were an icy green and when struck at the perfect angle, were filled with ridges paved in Mayan gold.

    She wore a coat of gray and white fur, never tattered, and white gloves. Under the winter sun, her hair would glisten; no, shimmer.

    On hot days, she would take refuge under a canopy of shade, and would lay on her side where she looked to be Cleopatra herself.

    His momma would take this pose many times throughout the day staring off into the distance in some perpetual state of bliss, and yet would spend each night awake roaming the grounds patiently waiting for her sons to come home.

Jonathan R Farrell