soft

a favorite memory. my mom dances on the kitchen floor, light shuffle shuffle kick with a joking smile on her face.

bashoom bashoom
bashoom bashoom *kick*

bashoom bashoom
bashoom bashoom oop!


my voice is untrained, but i've been singing to my cat lately. small melodies, repeated and hummed until the next stanza comes to mind. growing and swelling, only for the moment and forgotten soon after. childlike lullabies, swinging waltzes, one two three. songs for a kitten. she's full grown, over five years old, and she looks at me with wide eyes and frozen cat stance. what are you doing. i'm too old for this. it doesn't work on me. yet every once in a while she meows back. i pretend that means approval for me to continue.

i am not married, i am not a mother, there is no child. it's not a desire for any of these, but it's that time and that age and who i am and it seeps out anyway. i love, i care, i give as i can.