8-30 Snapshots

 

Snapshots

 

In the beginning was the Word… John 1:1

Submerged in her gelatinous cosmos

I heard mom talk fathoms above,

gurgling words, bubbles floating in my ears

over three score and eight years ago,

April 1947.

 

 

When dad snapped his Kodak Brownie Camera,

monochrome shades caught her beaming,

as I jiggled a red-bowed box under

Mickey Mouse ornaments and blue hue,

Christmas 1953.

 

 

The “M & M Boys” chased Ruth

and headlined sports pages

as mom hid a Dixie-cup of liquor

behind the kitchen window curtain

nobody knew about. Pall Malls

topped ashtrays at two-packs a day as

she baked my lemon meringue, fluffy-topped pie,

summer 1961.

 

 

She journeyed to Hebron Colony

and got sober with Jesus,

sipped grape juice at Communion,

posed joyfully for a color photo

by a trellised pink rose bush

strangled by Wisteria tendrils,

September 1970.

 

 

Her words “I’m OK” consoled

as I left ICU nineteen years ago

but a day later comatose, chalky,

IV lines hydrating her wrists,

vent hissing—she flat lined,

raggedy Bible by her side, at Rev. 22:21:

The grace of the Lord Jesus be with you all. Amen.

October 17, 1997

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