Jelly Belly
My daughter calls this morning on her way to buy a bagel, it’s
raining she says, grey and spring-raining, and here
the sun just set and I’m wearing linen shorts and a t-shirt she
gave me, and l listen, I am learning to listen, learning that learning
never stops, learning to be a different kind of mother, they
don’t want advice, but which probiotic would you recommend? and
can you re-send the challah recipe, and by the way, do
crystals really have any power? I remember when they were little
I’d take them with me to Scarlet and Sage in the Mission,
when I needed more nettle leaves or sage, they
would put their heads in the big bins of herbs, dig through
the stones, feeling for the one that felt just right, a talisman,
just a reminder that I love you, just a reminder
that you are beautiful and strong
but now I say nothing, my silence the greatest
gift, no one told me about this part of mothering, the
slipping in shadows, and I ask my mom, and she says,
yes you were the same and yes I did the same, and I guess
that is what we do, expand and retract like an accordion, and I
remember when my youngest at three asked me why I had a jelly belly
and she had a firm belly, and I said my belly was like an accordion, getting
big and small when I made babies and then gave them to the world, three
whole times? she asked, but are you sad you have a jelly belly, and I
scooped her in my arms and said my jelly belly made
the most beautiful music, and she squeezed me and whispered in my ear,
then I want a jelly belly too.
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