upward over the mountain

as i sit on the hard kitchen floor,
scraping out the intentional remains of devils food cake batter,
i am so at peace.
i am at peace because i could be anywhere,
and i would still feel her.
she doesn't always say much,
but the point is, i believe, she's there.
and what are you, song that stops me with your captivating mystery?
mother don't worry,
i have to claim my own restless heartbeat.
mother trust in this love, it holds more than we see.
and now i'm gripping your handkerchief,
pressing it tightly between my fingers
to savor this gift of time and heart.
you prayed for the dog as you carried its limp body to the side of the road,
placing all faith in the sureness of the moment.
and how is it that moments like these,
where the world is too big to handle and we only know to touch the shoulder in front of us or scoop up the poor animal in our arms, that life seems to make a claim on us?
and if it weren't for the tiredness in my body perhaps i could remember more...
but you said,
tell her you're in el salvador, tell her what a pupusa tastes like, that it's okay and that she doesn't have to fight the war anymore.
sit with her and listen.
and write it down.
invite her.