When He Closed His Eyes

When He Closed His Eyes

                                   

By John W. Vander Velden

 

On days like this one, when he closed his eyes he could see every detail.  The curve of her face, the softness of her chin, the set of her eyes.  Most often Richard saw her in the kitchen.  A simple space of old steel cupboards and Spartan furnishings.  The table top and vinyl covered chairs, red, contrasted the white tin cupboard doors and beige flooring. Most times he came home; she would be in that room.  It seemed the largest part of her universe.  No matter if she was cooking, cleaning or if the sewing machine could be heard clattering along, she would look up as Richard entered.  The smile said what words could never express.  He would speak of his day…never asking about hers.  Quietly she listened, her eyes gleaming as she patiently devoured his ramblings.  Richard could also see her, as toiling she coaxed a small space of earth to yield.  Yes, food, vegetables of all sorts, but also blooms large and small, flowers of yellow, red and purple. Nameless plants to him but strong images he could never forget.  A simple woman to others, but Richard knew better.  And though most might think that the many years that had parted, a severing complete, Richard understood.  The thread may have stretched, by distance and time, yet could never be fully broken.  No, when he closed his eyes he could see…hear…feel…his mother.

 

(244 Words)    5-6-2012