Hers was a face lined with time.
88 years of drawing on life,
sketches of the past century
etchings of a history – her story
a story only she knew
in its entirety
pencilled by her own hand.
The lines blurred as I stared and I saw
my own mother’s face
in her face.
(The mind misguides.)
Hers were eyes bright with life.
88 years of recorded time,
snapshots of defining moments
frames of a feature film presentation – her film
the one film only she ever saw from start to finish
of such epic proportions
directed by her own vision.
Her eyes teared up as I pictured her and I looked into
my own mother’s eyes
in her eyes.
(The eyes beguile.)
Hers was a mind filled with life.
88 years of stories stored in time,
accounts of incredible adventures
tales of woe and amusements – her musings
musings only she remembered
as clearly as yesterday
filed away in her own head.
Her voice faded as I listened and I heard
my own mother’s voice
in her voice.
(The ears deceive.)
Hers was a body wrinkled by time.
88 years of carving out a life,
a series of short stories
volumes of somebody’s life – her body
a body of tomes only she read
from cover to cover
written from her own heart.
Her body crumpled as I watched and I saw
my own mother’s body
in her body.
(The heart lies to itself.)
I wanted to hug her.
Because I knew.
It’s up to me to tell my mother’s story now.
And then, who will tell it when I’m no longer able?
Who will tell mine?
Ivanka Fear is a retired teacher and a writer from Ontario, Canada. She holds a B.A. and B.Ed., majoring in English and French literature, from Western Ontario. Her poems and short stories appear in or are forthcoming in Spadina Literary Review, Montreal Writes, Spillwords, Commuterlit, Canadian Stories, October Hill, Adelaide Literary, Scarlet Leaf Review, The Sirens Call, Utopia Science Fiction, Bewildering Stories, Polar Borealis, Aphelion, Wellington Street Review, The Literary Hatchet, Sad Girl Review, and Lighten Up. She is currently working on her first novel.