Matriarchy

winter sky
do you carry a gun
or umbrella

Gray keeps the whole day muted and dull. Nothing pulls attention outward, so deep dives and shame spirals continue. A sense of mourning, further down than I have ever been, rises to greet me. No longer can I be your lover but maybe I can be your friend? I've learned a few things in the dark.

The homescape changes with re-entry of the grown son. I had become accustom to the sediment settled at the end of the day – quiet talking, simple supper, maybe even a poem or two if energy allowed. It's not good or bad, yet the homecoming does somehow squeeze or pressurize any time left for writing or processing. It will be harder to hide my pain now. My role as comforter and healer in the family has been compromised.

The neighbor, not much older than I, becomes a grandmother. My daughter discusses marriage. My mother weighs the death of friends against her own mortality, and my grandmother turns 101 years old. I am here and I am between. My sister and I begin to understand the matriarchy – where it has been weak – where it has been strong. The earth and land reflect the condition of the Matriarchy and if one believes in such things, there is more work to do than you can imagine.

The deaf dog becomes more vocal in her old age. She too has a lesson to share. I teach her some sign language to help make the widening gap between this realm and the next a little less scary. “For her or for you?” Good question.