Ode To Maria
September 4, 2009 by lastgunslinger
Her mother taught her that everything that glistened did so because they needed aesthetics to hide their intentions. She did not fully understand what that meant, she never would. Her love for her mother, even though founded on pain and fear, was love still.
She walked quite like how people who never wanted to get anywhere walked. She wandered but she never became lost. During times when the storm’s lightnings and its thunder friends visited their town, she would cling to her mother. Her mother, unknowingly, would cling to her.
Her mother had two names. One of the flowers, the other of the wtiches. She had grown to love and fear both. Her mother, after all, never glistened.
She would walk around the garden during those times when the sun’s rays were most gentle. Carrying a bag where she kept her treasures, she felt wholly safe that the beasts and the demons were overwhelmed by her mixed confidence and innocence.
She would not stop wandering until she found a rose, a ribbon tied around it’s thorned stem, marked for its sickness. She would say to the rose, “I hope someone can make you better and more beautiful.”
A few feet away, golden butterflies glistened as they made their way to fulfill her wishes.
