Growing Things
my mother’s favorite color is
Green
a color so dark, it’s forest blood that bathes wet soil
a color so bright, the stem outshines the petals of a sunflower
my mother
has always been the color of growing things,
but when I was little
it was my biggest dream for her to fit inside the hot pink mold of the popular mothers
platinum blonde
with
red kate spade bags that gleamed against tory burch sandals
hair,
perfectly curled at 6 in the morning as they dropped off their kids at school
parking black Jaguars
and giving their fourth graders iPhones
my mother
is the color of growing things
and she was happiest when she drove her black stallion of a hummer
she dropped me off in pajamas with unwashed hair
not blonde enough
not brown enough
not pretty enough for my elementary school self
my mother
never failed to walk my brother and I to school
my feet
pounding on sidewalk to keep up with my mother’s
adorned in her favorite pair of blue beat up sneaks and off brand athletic shorts
I forgot
the warmth
of the sun
I mean her
smile
I never forgot the stares of passing children
decked out
with mile high bows atop their pretty heads
the nicest pair of sneakers on their tiny feet
wide eyes looking at my mother
she is the color of growing things
but to them
she was the weird mom of the weird kid and to this day
I still feel guilty
guilty for every morning she slapped up unbrushed curly hair into a ponytail
and how I felt coils of hot embarrassment curl up my sleeves in return
because my mother is the color of growing things,
a wildflower in the most prized of gardens up for an award
they don’t take kindly to free spirits there
she grows at her own pace with her own petals
and I blamed her for me not fitting in
I screamed at her once
tears dampening the soil
why can’t you just be like Them?
she asked me
why do you want
to be like Them?
my Mother
wears paint-stained arms with just as much pride as her flour-stained shirts
she complains about her chubby cheeks and round face
but she doesn’t see the way they crinkle when a laugh falls from her lips
she complains about the freckles and moles dappled onto her skin
she doesn’t see how sunrays kiss them
how when I noticed my own stars littered across my nose
I thought I looked like
my Mother
and I felt
Pride
because my Mother is the color of life itself
she is the rawest form of human emotion
she is a volcano
because even when she blows up
she still finds ways to create growth from the ashes
when everything burns, it gives us the chance to rebuild
and my Mother taught me how to survive even when surrounded by dirt
she is the lotus flower, blossoming in muddy water
she is the flash of green just before the sun sinks below the ocean
I don’t share my poetry with my Mother but
she is always willing to listen
I don’t say I love her as often as I feel it
there will be a day I’ll be able to tell her everything
I will work so it’s not the day she’s gone
body in the embrace of the earth
a flower returned to her home
my Mom
makes me understand why the earth
is called a mother
so to her,
Jenine
Green like no other
thank you.
Linda Rodriguez • Oct 20, 2018 at 11:34 am
So beautiful, so lovely to read. What a remarkable tribute to you Jenine.