the clock turns 11 minutes into a month

And the stark reality is i am lying.

11 minutes (said inside my head as an echo)

I live in my world of art, but my art is shades of white.

I say the hard surface of my art are not shades of white but a beige color, juxtaposed the white walls.  And the wool, sparingly strewn to only the upper corner is a natural white, which is not quite beige, and certainly not white.

13 minutes (said inside my head as an echo)

And the broken shards of my art on the ground are not white either.

I am lying.  They really are shades of white.

I live in a state of emptiness that I have created, and don't know if I want to escape.

my shades of white are just a way to make you think I am okay.

I am okay because my art can mean, to you, that I live in the light,

White is Light, .... right?

I am lying to myself that the white "I create"  is light.

17 minutes (said inside my head as an echo)

Light is such a happy place, full of warmth and love.

Warmth and love, like from a mom

my mom's love shown with exactness and rigidity.
and her warmth is like hot soup on a 110 degree day.

mom's love full of condescending tones and words of intolerance.
and warmth is the lesson, my scarred hand remembers all to well about how the stove can sear your flesh.

23 minutes (said inside my head as an echo)

so my hard surfaced art is unyielding and when pushed to hard breaks leaving shards on the floor.

11 minutes (said inside my head as an echo)

I look at my watch and see it has been 11 minutes, and I jot it down, I will need to know this.

But maybe it is too late,.....

I, now a month ago, decided that I am Okay and do not need the highly conditional love from my mother, but now every show on TV and conversation I hear is about mothers.

.
.
.


A month ago it started,
-- I did not call her, for one day -  I always needed to call her, she did not call me.

Somehow the phrase "the phone works both ways", never entered her mind, when it came to me........

 She knew how to use a phone to call her friends.

She knew how to use a phone to call my sibling.

So one day a month ago I did not call her.

7 minutes (said inside my head as an echo)

the first day was hard, not because of love, but because of habit.

By day four, I felt my heart sink a little, and decided to let the silence exist.

Let the silence exist

The rigidity of our love, would surly survive a few days, and I, like her, know how to be resolute and unyielding.

Day ten was a Sunday, a holy day for some.
For some families they have rituals like "big breakfast",or "football", or "laundry day"-

For me day ten was the second Sunday not interrupted by a two hour long, one sided conversation that leaves me feeling insecure, incompetent and depressed.

a mom's love shown by pointing out all the mistakes I made the previous week, comparing me to everyone else she knows, belittling the only thing in life that lets me be me.
and a warmth that is the ice cold exhale of  disapproval, when I try to defend myself from her emotional assaults.

29 minutes (said inside my head as an echo)

Today is a month later and she has not called me, my sibling ask whats up, but I say nothing.

They would not understand that for me the phone does NOT work both ways.


Today, I hear echo's in my head of time passing, 11 minutes, 17 minutes, 5 minutes.....

How odd I think these minutes,...

 and then I become aware that these echos are the number of minutes between each thought of my mother.

A month ago today, I let silence exist, and today I become keenly aware that the first 11 minutes has turned into a month.


And the TV shows a movie about a mother and abandoned-child reconciling.
And a co-worker has to leave work early and catch a flight because her mother has passed away.
And news shows an nine and eleven year old taken away from their mother for neglect.
and...
and...

And I met a man, today, who did not cry when his mom died,.....  it took him years to realize his guilt was not about the lack of tears but  Only because society says you are supposed to miss your mom, and he does not.
and..
and,..

53 minutes (said inside my head as an echo)

and I wonder how long I will let the silence exist.