Mundane meaning

A poem: escaping to catch my breath

I spent the weekend
savouring my mother’s hugs
sitting in the shadow
of the empty space beside her
after Salah

Kissing
her soft cheeks
her teary eyes
Memorizing the lines on her face
the quiver in her voice when she feels the tug
of prayer

When I was little
I would find the crook in her lap
to place my head
and rest there in her thikr
while she shook with the wish
she was asking of God,
No doubt
begging for the health of
her mother and her father
the health of her soul and mine
and the soul of the world, getting sicker

I spent the weekend
raking leaves into piles
wet and translucent
crumbling at my touch
the dirt caking on clothes
elemental

When I was little
I would jump in the piles
before collecting them in big brown bags
not afraid of the jarring impact on my knees
jump and fall against the hard black earth
not muffled
not cushioned
and laugh
and go again

I spent the weekend
watching my boy
practice the kick of his soccer ball
mama! look!
and he’d bend it like beckham
aiming for a particular post
on the fence

Looking …