Posted in love, poetry

Always and Forever

Always and Forever  I don’t know how I forgot about that book. I saw it in the window of a used bookstore last week, stumbling into childhood nostalgia as if jumping into a puddle, both feet all at once, splashed by  flashes of of my mom cradling me in her arms, singing the made up melody to the song in that forgotten book.   I’m amazed I learned to sleep without her hug, without her voice rocking me into dreams, without the comfort of a mother in the room down the hall, amazed I could wake without the gentle coaxing of her singing and the warmth of her arms holding me, assuring me that she’d keep me safe.  Wake up Leanne, wake up Leanne, wake up, wake up, wake up, she’d sing, coaxing my eyes to open, teaching me through song how to fill a room with love, and bright eyed soak it up with the morning sun. I always felt ready for the day, nurtured by her hand in mine, fingers always and forever intertwined until the moment she knew she could let go, taking off the training wheels to my bicycle, and watch me ride alone.   —Leanne Rebecca

I write this poem with extreme thanks for the blessed life that I’ve led, a carefree childhood and loving family. I recognize that Mother’s Day isn’t rainbows and butterflies for many people: mothers that have lost their children, children that have lost their mothers, broken families, reality. Even in my family, there’s an element of sadness on this day. My parents buried their first child when she was 16 months old. This is also the first Mother’s Day since my Grandma Genny died.

It’s easy to forget that many many emotions surround this day and where one family smiles another might cry. It’s important to empathize and take a moment to think about the true weight of this day. I find it allows me to appreciate what I have that much more. I’m beyond thankful to be filled with so much love.

I love you, Mom.

–Leanne Rebecca

Advertisements
Posted in art, poem, writing

Always My Favorite Jeans

Always My Favorite Jeans  I tucked your heart into my pocket for hushed safe keeping, to carry with me every time I wear these jeans.   And when the day comes that these jeans are folded in a drawer, when I’m ready to brave the day with a different look, collecting the beats of someone else's heart in the back pocket of new jeans, I promise I’ll still carry you with me.  Maybe not in my pocket, so accessible. But in the nostalgia of all the times I danced  in those jeans, in all the rips and stains of forever love.

Sometimes I write sappy poems. This is one of them. I loved every single second of milking every line for all the cheese I could muster. I wish you all the merriest of Monday nights.

Sleep well, my friends.

–Leanne Rebecca