MY MOTHER RAN WITH ME LAST NIGHT
FLORENCE M. ZIELINSKI
My mother and I hurried home
Down a long, long, white-painted street covered with snow.
Light over the snowflakes, weaving lacy curtains before our eyes.
In breathless silence, just the two of us,
Not a footprint in sight, not a soul!
Circled with lazy haloes the street lamps stood high, flooding yellow.
A sudden impulse, deep from her heart, prompted my mother to start
Running, running; and I bolted after her, running non-stop in surprise!
In all of my growing up years I had never seen such a burst of joy,
Such an emotional extreme in my mother!
She ran, her heavy bulk lightened by some inner spirit that
Lifted her soul, and I saw her almost fly over the snow!
She was young again, alive, carefree with no troubles or woes.
Was she remembering such a night? Such snow?
Soft snow petals, like wet baby kisses melted on our cheeks.
We slowed down with pounding hearts seeking relief.
We laughed and thought that we would melt!
My mother ran with me last night. . . . . .
Or was she running with someone else?