I think Johanna was trying to give me a hint; Johanna my sister. Warn me is her own special way; her gentle, caring way. She posted a poem a few days ago…or has it been weeks? I can’t keep track of time anymore…it doesn’t matter…time…anymore…to a guy like me…anyway…she called it, “To Edith Failing.” Edith. My Mom.

I am standing naked. Drenched. My head turned toward the sky. Cold rain pouring into my eyes. The cobra skinned clouds and the moon playing tricks on my mind. After what seems like days of rain, the clouds part and the moon is so clear.

The blue dot light stars splash across the night sky and it dawns on me that maybe Johanna is preparing me and the world I know for the saddest moment of my life…lives really … hundreds … maybe more. Edith was … is?… my favorite mother of all time…the first mother walked out of Africa. I think Edith was that mother…I am grateful she chose me for a son…I guess she was looking for a challenge. Is Edith failing? If so, will she return? 


3 Comments Add yours

  1. NUCLEARMIND says:

    Reblogged this on PLANET LOBSTER.


  2. Careen Mabuza, You would have loved my Mother, I know she would have adored you. She was a trip. She did not mince words. If she liked you, she liked you. And if she did not, then that person must of been a bad one. She used to cuss a lot. It was incongruous somehow, this beautiful, statuesque woman and then, pow! she would sometimes say the darndest things – but everyone stepped back – she commanded the stage – until the day she died. Ah thank you Careen fro reminding me. She grew up in the rough Irish neighborhood of Hell’s Kitchen in NYC. That is where she perfected the perfect cuss word – or words – depending on how she intended to craft them and for what purpose – they were never incidental – I loved it when she did, though. She had a way of making it all funny. I cuss because she did, and she is the boss around my universe. Even today.


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