Goodwill Her Safe

Where the rays of sunlight touch the surface of the ink water underneath and farther away in the background, blurry white dots swim on each rippled wave. The sunshine lightens the brown of the wooden balustrade onto which my mother has laid her elbows to rest into a crème-beige. Next, the light dips each of my mother’s silver-blond curls into a glowing gold and paints the contours of her profile with a light, fleshy rosé. The light then lays itself to repose into each pore of my mother’s laugh lines and caresses them as they huddle together around the eyes, her forehead, and the opened lips to form a benevolent smile. Her youthfully aged face is turned towards the elbow-bent in her arm into which my forehead is nestled. Her velvet lips almost touch my forehead. Where the kiss would have been, her benign gaze has settled. The light explores each soft weave of my blond braid that starts at the resting forehead, traces my head down to then reach my bowed, softly rounded neck. Some of the small butterfly wing strands that are dancing with the breeze deep underneath the stillness of the picture nostalgically brush and hurriedly kiss my mother’s skin.