I once studied how a mama cat's instinct to lick her kitten's wounds is the best available medical treatment. There's magic in mom- a cure-most remedy embedded in her basic building blocks.
Tonight I am wounded, praying my nosebleed stops and that bruises don't mar my face. Thinking on cats, I pile my mother's letters onto my bunkbed and curl myself into them.
I sleep...
awakening only when my celldoor is banged by clanging keys.
Like an ointment, her familiar scent clings to me and my face is healed.
I wish the same medicine would work on my caged heart.
I am getting organized, Best Beloveds. Posts written from prison and jail will be pre-titled "Unlocked" and eventually a real menu will exist somewhere around these parts, too. Many of the posts I wrote from prison were "Rarasaur 100″s because it was a mind-distracting challenge to make sure I used only 100 words.
And, sometimes, those distractions were precious to me.
How did you start your new year?
